The Prince of Sparta v2

By: Jerry Pournelle

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If you find errors and update this document, please redistribute with an updated version number. eg v2.1
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CHAPTER ONE

 The soldier stands alone. In the time when he must either succeed or encounter failure that will follow him beyond his grave, he has only a little time and only two considerations - his mission, and what strength he has within himself by which he may accomplish it. Whether he commands a million other men or only the weapon in his own hand, the soldier in the moment of decision is of all men most alone- Whatever of harmony he has achieved in his adjustment to the world as he knows it is the source of his strength. If he has adjusted himself only to chaos, it is in this time that he will dissolve and lose himself in its nothingness.

 -Joseph Maxwell Cameron, The Anatomy of Military Merit The most important fact of the first half of the Twentieth Century is that the United States and England both speak English. The most important fact of the second half will be that the dominant race in both the United States and the Soviet Union is white.

 -Herman Kahn, I Crofton's Encyclopedia of Contemporary History and Social Issues (rd Edition): CoDominiumi The first attempts by the United States to forge a CoDominium alliance were defeated by the failure of an attempted Communist Party coup and the consequent deposition of Gorbachev. The Soviet Union splintered along national and ethnic lines; but when the economic situations of both the former Soviet Union and the United States continued to deteriorate, many in both nations looked back on the Cold War with nostalgia. When a new series of military and political coups resurrected the USSR, the United States was quick to Join its former enemy in an alliance that established the supremacy of the two dominant nations over the rest of the world. The alliance was one of convenience rather than genuine friendship....

 The Exodus -t In the first generation after the perfection of the Alderson Drive in more than forty planetary colonies were founded, not counting closedenvironment mining settlements and refueling stops in systems without Terresteroid planets. While the CoDominium did not encourage governments (other than the US or Soviet Union) to establish direct settlements, corporations or settlement associations clandestinely backed by governments were common. Private colonization ventures were typically either commercial (e.g. HwSey, q.v.) or religious-ethnic in nature; see Arrarat (q.v.), Dayan (q.v.), FrieiSand, (q.v.), Metfi, (q.v.), others, spp. During this phase, several million emigrants left the solar system, almost all voluntary - although both the CoDominium Powers offered increasingly strong "encouragement" to politically inconvenient individuals and groups. Thus there are now planets whose population is purely Mormon (Deseret), American Black Separatist (New Azania), Russian nationalist (St. Ekaterina), Finnish (Sisu), and even Eskimo/Innuit WvUttJuk).

 The second phase of interstellar colonization began with die extension of the Bureau of Relocation's mandate to include involuntary transport of colonists (in addition to the already existing flow of convicts, many merely petty criminals). During this period ( to date) voluntary emigration has remained roughly stable, but involuntary has increased to levels exceeding fifteen million persons per year; at the same time, more than seventy new planetary colonies have been founded, many specifically by the Colonial Bureau as relocation settlements- Given the sometimes extremely marginal habitability of the planets concerned (see Haven, Frystaat) and the endemic shortage of capital in the outsystem colonies, casualties among the transportees are often heavy, with life expectancies averaging as little as three years in some cases.

 •O Whump.

 A globe of violet fire bloomed for an instant against the southern horizon, down in the lowlands, actinic brightness through the gathering dark and the light cold rain. Firefly streams of tracer began to stitch across the ground in long shallow arcs, and die reddish sparks of exploding munitions.

 The mercenary sergeant smiled in satisfaction at the picture his facescreen showed. He turned in his foxhole, away from the action to the south and toward the valley below the ridge where his men lay concealed.

The twelve-man SAS section was dug in on the low crest, invisible in their spider-holes under chameleon tarps. Only the thread-thin tip of the fiber-optic periscope showed above the sergeant's camouflage.

 It was dark, Cytheria was just a sliver on the horizon, but that was no problem with nightsight. The enemy column was spread out down the wooded vale beneath them, winding through the tall grass and eucalyptus trees; the slope was in reddish-brown native scrub and shamboo. Men and mules halted at die sound of the explosion, then scattered to shouted orders.

 "Now" Sergeant Taras Miscowsky said into the throat-mike. Not what the bastards expected, he thought with a hard grin in die private darkness of die hole.

 A heavy droning whisde came through the low clouds overhead. Then: crump .. . crump .. . crump.

Points of red fire flashed over the valley, proximityfused mm mortar rounds bursting at ten meters up. Circles of vegetation bent away, crushed by blast and flayed by the steel-wire shrapnel. Men and animals screamed or wridied or lay still under die iron flail; the faint bitter scent of explosive joined the smells of wet earth and grass. Anodier salvo came in^ and another, the air whistling continuously. The observers called fire on die clumps of guerrillas forming around officers and noncoms, throwing men into panic flight and chopping into dog-meat any attempt to rally.

 That's doing it to them. Captain," Miscowsky said as he threw back the tarpaulin. Then more formally, "Sir, they're taking heavy casualties. I estimate thirty percent casualties on a full company. Better than half the mules are down, too. They're moving, one six five degrees true."

 "Roger that. Tracking. We'll get the blocking group in fast."

 "Sir. We'll lose most of them if we don't act fast."

 "Right. Thank you. Sergeant,"

 Some of the enemy troops were moving straight west up the slope toward his position; the hill was gentle, and there was good cover. Mortar shells landed closer, probing for them as they moved up toward the ridge. The SAS unit was well dug-in, but they were infiltration scouts, not a line unit. and there were only a dozen of them. Miscowsky flashed a ranging laser at the center of the enemy group.

 "Fire mission. Personnel, not armored. Five-fiftysix meters, bearing one hundred seventeen degrees."

 "On the way," his commanders voice sounded in the helmet mike. Seconds later Corporal Washington spoke: "Getting troop movement noise to our rear, Sarge.

Multiples, light vehicles and infantry."

 "Roger. Cap'n, the Royals are coming in from my west."

 "Roger that, Miscowsky; the other side of the trap's moving in from the southeast around now."

 Miscowsky turned his head in that direction and switched his facemask to IR sensors. There was a hell of a firefight going on down there a couple of klicks away, at the works the guerrillas had been planning to attack. Small arms, mortars ... and the lance-shaped blossom of a Cataphract light tanks mm cannon.

Several of those, coming toward him fast; he could see the faint waver of heat from their engines. Relayed sound-sensor data gave him the push from behind the SAS position. Boots thudding on turf, and a quiet whine from fuel-cell electrics. Then a louder shoopwonk as their mortars opened up, lighter mm s and mm mediums.

 He tapped at the side of his helmet to switch to the Royalist units push.

 "Miscowsky, Falkenberg's Legion," he said.

 A dark machine shape came bounding up the low reverse slope behind him. A cycle, boxy body slung between two wheels thatwere balls ofCharbonneau alloy monomolecular thread. It braked to a stop and a figure in bully Nemourlon combat armor jumped down.

 "Captain Lewis, nd Royals," the man said.

 Others in the same camouflage uniforms and armor were swarming up the ridge; teams set up machineguns as the riflemen fanned out and opened fire.

Behind them light four-wheel vehicles like skeletal jeeps hauled ammunition and heavy weapons, recoilless rifles and rocket-launchers.

 Miscowsky straightened and threw a formal salute.

"Sir. Falkenberg's Legion presents one enemy column, badly used," he said.

 The Royal officer returned the gesture, grinning as he scanned the action below. His night-sight goggles were flipped up, and he was using a blocky pair of sensorglasses; less efficient than the multitasking facemasks of the Legion, but Sparta was not a rich planet.

 "Some of them are putting their hands up already,"

he said. A signals tech came up behind him and put a handset into his outstretched palm. "First platoon," he continued into it. "Deploy in skirmish order and advance. I want prisoners, but don't take unnecessary casualties. If in doubt, shoot." Men fanned out and began to filter into the scrub downslope.

 "Well done. Sergeant," he went on, nodding to Miscowsky.

 "Next insertion, sir?" Miscowsky said hopefully.

 The Royal Spartan Army helicopter was still turning over its turbines behind the SAS squad.

 "That's the last of them." Legion Captain Jamey Mace, Scout Commander, twitched his thumb toward the column of enemy prisoners as they shambled past under guard down to the river docks.

 The Tyndos flowed north from here into the Eurotas, the great river of the Serpentine Continent.

McKenrie's Landing was a riverside town, like most OB this world; not much of one, which was also typical.

There was- an openpit rare-earth mine cut back into a smooth green hill, a geothermal plant and a kilometer of railway down to the loading docks. That and housing for a few hundred people, ranging from tufa-block Georgian houses for the mine-owner down to plastic-stabilized rammed earth for the miners' barracks. A fuel station by the docks, stacked logs for steamers and peanut oil tanks for diesels. A bar, a seedy-looking hotel, a Brotherhood meeting hall, two churches - established and non-conformist - and a tiny Hindi temple, a three-man Mounted Police station-cum-post-office....

 Not many of the Spartan People s Liberation Army - Helot - guerrillas had gotten to anywhere useful.

Rosie's Bar and Grill was burning, and one of the steamers down at the pier was sinking at its moorings.

The rebel plan had probably been to overrun the settlement just long enough to wreck the mine - it brought the Royal government off-planet hard currency - kill the Citizens resident, harangue the convict-transportee section of the labor force....

 Tet me go after them, Cap'n."

 "Can't do that." Mace shook his head. "Back to training duty. Sergeant. We're going to need every Royal up to the mark-"

 "Yes, sir, but -"

 "If I thought there was one chance in ten thousand she was still alive I'd order you to go look for her."

 "You wouldn't have to order me or anyone else.

Captain, dammit, I know she's dead. But I want-"

 "Ahead?"

 "Balls would do."

 "You'll have your chance," Mace said. It was easy to see what Mace was thinking. Taras Hamilton Miscowsky came from a culture that took blood feuds seriously. "Right now we've got a war to win. Sergeant."

 "Sir." Miscowsky was silent; obedience, not agreement. Two months ago the war had stopped being a job to him; when Lieutenant Lefkowitz died. Lieutenant Deborah Lefkowitz, wife of uniform. "We're moving ahead of schedule here,"

Falkenberg said. "Light casualties. Good local support. Details attached.

 "Your reports say things are rough there,"

Falkenberg said. "I'm sorry to hear it, but I have to say I'm not greatly surprised. I did hope you'd have some time before our enemies built up strength, but Sparta is important to Bronson and his people. It's even more important to us, the way things are developing. It's vital that you keep Sparta independent. I know you'll do that, whatever it takes.

 "Administrative matters. Major Owensford is herewith promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, and authorized to accept whatever Spartan rank he feels is justified.

 "Colonel Slater will now assure himself that this room is secure and all present are authorized and cleared for discussion of regimental business."

 The screen went blank. Owensford looked at each person in the room, then typed in a phrase on his console. Falkenberg reappeared.

 "As all of you know, there's more happening than we can usually discuss in Council meetings. I regret that, because you're being asked to endure hardships without knowing why. I can only say, what you're doing is important to us all. To the Regiment, and to whatever future civilization has out here. That future is uncertain. The CoDominium is breaking up, but it's not dead yet. It still has great power. That power is divided. Our group, the faction loosely headed by the Grants, the Blaines, Admiral Lermontov -"

 "- Bloody blunt about it," George Slater said.

 "- controls part of the Fleet. A smaller group is loyal to the Bronson faction in the person of Vice Admiral Townsend. Most of the Fleet is trying to stay neutral: 'No politics in the Fleet, the Fleet is our fatherland.' We can all sympathize with that view. We've all held it. It's now an obsolete notion. There is no Fleet, and we'll have to build a fatherland, a fatherland for ourselves and a home for the Fleet.

 "What you're doing is significant to that effort. If things go well here, we'll have influence in New Washington, enough influence that we should be able to base naval and marine units here. That won't be enough. We'll also need bases on Sparta.

 "The question inevitably arises, who do I mean when I say \ve? I don't know. Clearly some entity larger than the Legion, and for that matter larger than whatever part of the Fleet joins our faction, I confess I don't yet know what that entity will be. I have my hopes. I think you may be in a position to know better than I do.

 "We face a very uncertain future. I'll do what I can to take some of the pressure off you, but frankly, I can't do much just now. The situation here will require all our political resources until we have New Washington stabilized. Don't feel ignored, though, because what you're doingis vital. You're distracting our enemies, the enemies of the Legion, and, for that matter, the enemies of civilization. What they throw at you there they can't throw at us here. You're helping grind them down. It won't be easy, that kind of campaign never is, but I know you can do it "We're going to win. Never forget that. Godspeed and Cod bless you." The image faded "Bloody hell," someone said.

 "A war of attrition," George Slater said. "Major - Colonel, I have a request. I won't put it as a motion until I see what you think."

 "Very well," Owensford said.

 "I propose that we ask my father to sit on this Council. With all due respect, none of us here is very experienced in Fleet politics -"

 "And General Slater has been with Falkenberg  ferry PoumeUe is- S.M. Stirling longer than anyone else," Owensford finished. "As you all know, Colonel Falkenberg is very sensitive to the principle of unity of command. He was therefore careful not to imply that General Slater was in any way associated with command of Legion units here. I much appreciated that. However, I agree with Captain Slater.

The situation here is not what we expected. Events have moved much faster than we expected. I think we can use the experience of retired Lt. Colonel Hal Slater on this Council, and I will entertain a motion to that effect"

 "So moved."

 "Second."

 "Moved by Regimental Sergeant Cutierrez and seconded by Mrs. Frazer. All those in favor say aye.

Nays? I hear none. Let the record show the vote was unan-"

 There was a brisk knock at the door. Owensford frowned. "Come." The door opened. Owensford looked up, felt his face freeze into blankness at the junior lieutenant's expression.

 "Sir," the young man said. "Sorry to interrupt. Priority message from Sparta City. The transportee shuttle has been sabotaged. There are over a thousand dead, and the .. . Sir, the CoDominium enclave Commandant has summoned all heads of government and armed forces to a meeting. Immediately, sir."

 Owensford started to rise. "Wait a minute," he said.

"Heads of armed forces? Plural?"

 "Yes, sir. The summons includes the Helots ... and they're under CoDominium safe conduct. Any action against them for the duration of the conference period or twenty-four hours thereafter will be treated as an attack on the CoDominium."

 Peter looked down the table at the shocked faces as he tried to control his own. "Gentlemen, ladies," he said formally. "I'm afraid we'll have to adjourn."

^ ^ < "Skilly will be back in a minute."

 Geoffrey Niles raised himself on one elbow to watch her go. There was a relaxed pleasure in the way the muscle clenched and relaxed in her buttocks as her hips swayed, shadowed in the dim light. Not at aR what you'd expect in some ways, he thought. She was fastidious as a cat, when there was opportunity. One of the most frequent punishment drills for Helot recruits was for not washing; the offender was scrubbed down by their entire squad, ung floor-brushes....

 The cave air was still chill, but he ignored that now, not pulling up the coverlet despite his nakedness; he had learned the trick of that, these last few months, of being indifferent to how you felt physically. Learning a good deal from Skilly, he thought with a sour grin, running over the last hour in his mind. Even exhausted, it stirred him. Cod, what a lay!

 "Lot of fun, all around," he murmured to himself.

Which was odd again, considering that he was still working like a slave; no harder than she, of courseLess if anything... "But it's rarely boring."

 The thought of England and the eternal petty round, traveling in to Amalgamateds offices in the City, vacationing in the Alps or the family's private island in the Caymans. ... Brainless debs and endless bloody boredom. Now there was something chillingNot mat there was anything wrong with inherited wealth, except that it tempted you to waste yourself.

You couldn't really enjoy nothing but enjoyment, and once mere were a certain number of credits in the account adding more was just numbers. Not many of the people he had known on Earth had anything approaching Skilly's diamond-hard concentration and single-mindedness; they scattered themselves instead, a little bit of this and that. No way to accomplish anything.

 Adventure isn't the thing, he mused. He'd learned that, floating down the river holding onto the corpse of one of his men, after the Dales battle last year.

Adventure was like happiness, not something you could set out to find; that way lay safaris and pointless risks that were simply bigger amusement-park rides.

What really mattered was accomplishing something.

Something big and worthwhile, and putting everything you had into it, that was what people like Grand-Uncle Bronson or Murasald or Skilly did. Starting off with nothing and aiming to win a war and rule and reshape a planet; that was something worth spending your time on.

 He yawned again. Well, Grand Uncle, maybe I'll surprise you and find my own career on this little junket, he thought. He stirred uneasily at the thought of going home now; his Sandhurst classmates wouldn't understand.... I had no choice! Not really, and then it wastoolate- There was a notebook on Skilly's side of the bed, one of hundreds she kept neatly shelved, a cm x cm black-bound volume. That was another surprising thing, the way she hated to waste time. If there was nothing else to do she'd whip out one of these and start writing, thoughts and observations and plans... . Idly, he flipped open the front cover.

 Postwar # , he read. There were plastic markers on the side, dividing it into sections: pers., poUt., mdtry., econo.

 Personal first, he thought.

 Freehand pencil sketches. Of himself, nude or in fanciful uniforms, or with Skilly. Are we ready that acrobatic? Notes for insignia, flags. Floor-plans and elevations of houses and gardens. One picture of a ragged, big-eyed urchin, and it was several moments before he recognized a younger Skilly. A last series, showing him and Skilly and a baby; in a cradle, at her breast, playing with Niles.... Touched, he closed the notebook and set it down again. Maybe she fancies the dynastic connection. Marriage into the Bronson dan.

Cadet branch, but still quite a step up from Belize. And what would Grand Uncle think? But it's something to think about.

 "Definitely," he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment In fact, it was an exciting thought. A dynasty, he mused. Not that Skilly had ever said anything directly against Croser, but... Most dynasties start with ruthless pirates, he reminded himself. Or lucky soldiers, or barbarian invaders. No reason they can't become enlightened in twne. Civilizations have been founded by enlightened barbarians... Could SkiUy think that way?

With a Bronson connection, could she be a satrap in a real social order? Would she accept that?

 "Up again? Jeffi really be a mon of iron," Skilly laughed, sliding back into the bed- Her feet were cold when she entangled them with his - they were nearly the same height - and so were her fingers as she trailed them down his chest and stomach.

 "God, woman, you must be slipping something into my drinks," he said in mock-horror.

 "Lots of red meat and fresh air," she said, kissing him and kneading. "But we spare you poor knees and elbows this time," she went on, rising and straddling his hips. "Skilly good to her Jeffl, hey?" she said, looking down at him heavy-lidded as she lowered onto him with taunting slowness. "Enjoy while you can, we in the field soon."

 "Soon? Ah!" He ran his hands up to her breasts.

 "Hmmrn. Mmmm, nice. We been spending de winter make life miserable for the kings, now they getting good and mad. We gots to make them spread out -" she grinned "- so they not get it together for a concentrated thrust." Her hips gave a quick downward jerk. "Too many of us to stay pure guerrilla anymore, so.

 Niles laughed a little breathlessly. "You're thinking strategy at a time like this?"

 She leaned forward against his hands, locking her own on his shoulders. The mane of curled black hair fell over his face as they began to rock together, but he could see her teeth and eyes glint through.

 "Skilly is always thinking, Jeffi," she gasped.

"Always."

 Skida Thibodeau slid herself a little to one side and picked up the notebook, sparing a fond glance for the man sleeping beside her and hooking up the coverlet to warm his feet. She pulled a pencil from the spine and licked the point as she flipped the book open.

 Polit. The first section was a list of books on internal-security technique; she ran down them and added another note; seer. pol. - Own budget - labr.

cmps. profit - see R. Concfuest, details. Important to be thrifty. Also - Bival grps. - balance. But it would be easy to go too far. see Anat. der SS-Staat.

 On to rmltry. The first page of that carried an abbreviated star map centered on Sparta's sun, with transit-times radiating out like the spokes of a wheel.

Underneath it was a note: conscr. army - / div., and a list of planets. She put a checkmark beside Thurstone, then stopped for a moment.

 Them first, but who next? Haven? she asked herself; it was not nearly as close, but the shimmerstone trade was valuable. On the other hand, it was still CD, and pretty worthless otherwise. Not enough people to serve as a recruiting ground for further expansion. It did have a refueling point . . . The pencil moved: Haven pass. nxt., CD goes; expl. beyond? Time enough to think about that when the Democratic Republic started building up its navy. Build or take. So much easier to take than build.

 She slipped the pencil back into its holder and sank down on the bed, pulling up the blankets. Niles shifted closer in his sleep, and she smiled to herself as she yawned and prepared to drop off.

 Life is good, she thought contentedly. A light began to flash beside the bedside communications unit; she frowned at it, then swung out of bed and belted on a robe. This better be important, she thought.

<• -fr <• "Well, we know how it was done," General Desjardins said. 'Those fools in the SCA thought they could terrorize the CoDominium into stopping involuntary transportation. They smuggled a suicide bomber on the shuttle; through the Aegis station."

Most spaceships with cargo or passengers docked at the orbital transit-station, and boarded the surface shuttles there.

 "Mingled with the transportees, and managed to get close enough to a coolant pump during reentry.

They didn't notice that there were CD officers on board the shuttle as well as eleven hundred convicts!"

 Owensford nodded taudy. The Royalist party was sitting in one comer of what had once been the Officer's Mess of the CoDominium Marine garrison; the dry, slightly musty air of the big dimly-lit room carried a faint ghost of banners, of raucous celebrations with bagpipers and Cossack dancers, a lingering sadness. The remaining staff of the enclave rattled around like peas in a very empty pod, and the junior officers who had brought the two parties here had been men in their forties ... There, but for luck, go I, the mercenary thought with a shudder. Stranded here in a lost outpost of a dying empire. He glanced up at the group across the room, around a hastily-dusted table of their own; Dion Croser and his NCLF gang.

Croser was talking with one of them, laughing and slapping the man on the shoulder.

 Bastard.

 There was a stir at the entrance; the honor guard there was not giving the same carefully neutral salute they had accorded the Spartan kings and their Legion officers.

 The Helots, Owensford thought sardonically Meet the enemy.

 They had come under CoDominium safe-conduct, in a heavily armed Marine shuttle.

 Pity, he thought savagely. Otherwise they'd never get out of here alive. They may not anyway, once I drop my little surprise into the meeting. Then: Observe. Know the enemy.

 The CD Commandant had insisted on seeing all parties to the civil war, including those that did not recognize each other as belligerents and those claiming neutrality. The Royal government had spent three days protesting the safe-conduct for the Helots; the Marine commandant had been sympathetic - no doubt where me CoJDo garrison's sympathies lay, particularly after the violations of the Laws of War - but standing orders left no latitude, not with a Grand Senator breathing down their neck.

 The CoDominium might be tottering towards its grave, but the walking corpse of it still possessed a power no planet without space-navy capacity could ignore. Even now, a blatant violation like the shuttle bombing could not be ignored. Not even when Sparta's friends included influential Senators and Grand Admiral Lermontov. Especially then, when those friends fought for their lives and any excuse mi^it serve their enemies to bring them down. There were so many enemies, Kaslov's murderous neoStalinists in the USSR, Harmon's demented Patriot Party in the US, both openly courting nuclear war with nihilistic relish.

Bronson and his opportunists playing both sides against the middle for private gain....

 Take a good look, he reminded himself, studying the half-dozen rebel leaders. They were in camouflage jackets and leather trousers and boots, but neatly pressed, brasswork and the badges on their berets polished. A touch of bandido-fiamboyance here and there, a brass earring or long braided hair, a bit of swagger. Skida Thibodeau was in the midst of them and her eyes flicked over him with a steady considering look as she passed, like a predator in hot jungle thoughtfully eyeing a wild boar.

 Owensford straightened slightly, feeling an instinctive bristling. The dog and the wolf, he thought ironically. He had studied the records and the pictures carefully, but they had not prepared him for this sleek exotic handsomeness, the graceful deadliness of a ferde-lance.

 It must have taken considerable courage to come here, anyway; there were more than a few Spartans and some Legionnaires who would have risked the CoDominium s anger to kill the enemy leaders. This was a bitter war, and the reason for it was right here.

Owensford studied them carefully; one or two might not be aware of the danger they were in, several of the others were slightly stiff with the knowledge of it, under their bravado. Skilly was completely relaxed, even slightly amused. The mercenary officer felt his teeth show slightly. Most soldiers endured danger by an act of will. He had known some who enjoyed it...

 and a few who were simply not much affected one way or another, icemen. He had never liked them; there was something missing inside in someone like that, and the Helot leader looked to be a prime example. There was a mind behind the big dark eyes.. -, But no soul, he decided. None at aS.

 Ace Barton leaned close and whispered: "Notice Miles," he said That must be the tall blond man; he felt their eyes and turned to give them a false and toothy grin as the Helots seated themselves. Skilly leaned back in her chair with arms and legs negligently crossed, and went instantly to sleep, "Doesn't look much like the pictures." They had extensive video files on the Honorable Geoffrey Niles, and despite the unmistakable Nordic cheekbones and male-model looks, this was a different man. "Our little sprig on the Bronson family tree isn't nearly so much me silly-ass Englishman, these days," Barton replied thoughtfully.

 "Can't say that it's altogether an improvement,"

Owensford said. Nearly two Earth years in the wilderness had thinned him down, and given him something of the feral look the others at the Helot table had.

"Keeping bad company and all."

 "Gentlemen, ladies." The CoDominium lieutenant called from the inner door; he had a flat Russian face, ash-blond hair turning gray and body stringy under the blue-and-scarlet dress uniform. "The Commandant will see you now."

 "Ten-Tiur," the garrison Sergeant-Major said. "This meeting will come to order."

 There was a rustle, the military men standing to and the civilians a little straighter; the kings had already been seated, of course, being heads of state. David I looked no more worried than usual; the improvement in Alexander I was as night and day.

 Colonel Boris Karantov returned the polite nods of die Spartan and Legion soldiers and ignored the Helots. He sat carefully, lowering himself down by his hands; he was in his seventies and looked older, regeneration treatments or no.

 "Be seated, gentlemen, ladies." His Anglic was still slightly Russian.

 'We are here to discuss violations of the Treaty of Independence governing relations between this planet and the CoDominium. And of the Laws of War. Let me first establish that the CoDominium is strictly neutral in the current conflict; I am uninterested in the rights or wrongs of that struggle as you perceive them.

I remind you that this meeting is being recorded, and the records will be made available to the appropriate offices of the CoDominium Authority as well as to the Grand Senate."

 There was a flat weariness to the tone, the voice of a man who has excluded everything but the performance of a job in which he no longer really believes.

 "Now, a shuttle - a civuian vessel -" he pronounced it wessle "- under charter to the Bureau of Relocation, carrying both involuntary colonists not yet transferred to Spartan jurisdiction, and off-duty officers of the CoDominium Fleet, has been destroyed by an act of criminal terrorism. I have called all possible parties here to account for this crime. Your Majesties?"

 "We, the Dual Monarchy's government denounce this abhorrent act." Alexander looked sternly toward Skida Thibodeau. "It is quite possible that this was an operation organized by this person as a provocation to discredit us. However, we are fairly sure that a dissident group called the SCA is responsible, and if - when - we catch the individuals responsible, they will  ferry PoumeUe - S.M. Stirling be subject to trial and execution. Or turned over to you for punishment. Commandant. Sparta values its relations with the CoDominium." A subtle reminder that they had powerful friends in the Grand Senate.

 Karantov nodded non-committally, his fingers rolling a light-pencil. "Still," he said judiciously, "this SCA is believed to have links to your own security apparat. You say this is entirely a matter of disaffected individuals, but this would be claimed in any case."

 His eyes rose to Croser. "Mr. Croser, your organization has also been linked to terrorist activities. You have to say?"

 Croser's nod was politely deferential. "Sir, firstly, the NCLF is purely a peaceful political party. Its true we hope to form the government after the illegal Royalist regime is rejected by the people in the upcoming referendum" - David I snorted, and Alexander almost rose in his fury, with General Desjardins laying a hand on his arm - "but we seek to use only legitimate means."

 Karantov made a slight bored gesture, as if waving the Spartan through the necessary pieties.

 "More to the point," Croser continued, his face and voice taking on a flatter, harsher tone. The NCLF draws its strength from the oppressed classes - that is, from the transportees oppressed by the Royalist regime. Every transport which lands increases our just strength. It would be suicidal for us to interrupt the flow, even if we would stoop to such an atrocity as this.

 "No," he went on, the mellow voice taking on a ringing quality, "the only logical candidate is the Royalists themselves - lashing out in their desperation, now that the whirlwind they created by their own actions is out of control. Through this false-front SCA, which they use to disguise actions too repulsive even for them to openly admit to. Certainly the SCA has claimed responsibility."

 Bastard, Owensford thought. But a smart bastard.

No way to prove that wasn't true.

 Karantov's head turned toward the Helots. Their commander was sitting with one fist supporting her chin, watching the byplay between the others with lazy enjoyment.

 'These NCLF rabbiblancos be getting some thing right every now and then, even if they be wuss weaklings," she said lightly. The Spartan Peoples Liberation Army be a transportee army. Why we kill our own recruits?"

 The CoDo officer nodded grimly; obviously loathing the speaker to the point of physical distaste at listening, equally obviously accepting the argument.

 Alexander shook off the police commander's hand.

"I repeat, as a provocation, of course. You would very much like to ruin our relations with the CD."

 Skilly grinned insolently and leaned back with one arm hooked around the back of her chair. She examined the nails of the other hand.

 Tsk, tsk," she said, with mock-kindness. "Old man be having de fantasies. He need the doctor, bad."

"Silence!" Karantov rasped. After a moment: "Under the Treaty, I have the right to resume command of the Aegis station if the Spartan government fails to perform its duties. This will be done. Lunabase informs me that heavy shipments of involuntary colonists will be received shortly, and I will not allow anyone entrusted to my care to be endangered!"

 "Colonel?" Skilly's voice was chocolate-smooth this time; Owensford glanced aside at her, narrow-eyed. She was keeping her own on her nails, the long black lashes drooping. "Maybe be better you land the convicts somewhere else. Safer than this dangerous city, which be too big to secure, hey? Also city is full of legitimate military target place, maybe we attack it soon."

 A brilliant smile. "We Spartan People s Liberation Army promise solemn not to attack any place the shuttles land, if no Royal troops be there."

 The Royal government delegation tensed; this was the real rebel ploy. Karantov pursed his lips thoughtfully, calling up the map-function of the table- It blinked from steel-gray to transparent, showing an overhead view of the Serpentine continent.

 "Where would you suggest?" he said.

 "Well, anywhere on the river do OK," she said blandly. "Howsomeever, all the towns have the same objection as Sparta City."

 She reached over and tapped a spot on the south shore of Lake Alexander, where the railway from Olynthos circled around the Vulcan Rapids.

 "This be the best spot, I think. Plenty open water, already docks for the mineral barges, and not much town. We agree not to attack there or anywhere within five kilometer."

 "Commandant, that would cause considerable administrative difficulties," David I broke in.

 "Three of my officers and a thousand people whose only offense was to be there when the B ureau of Relocation came through died just now. Your Majesty,"

Karantov said frostily. This is considerably more than an administrative matter."

 He glanced at the map again, then at the guerrilla leader with unconcealed suspicion.

 "I and my staff will consider this matter.

Provisionally, we will seal off all portions of the Aegis station dealing with BuReloc. The shuttles will take transportees to the surface -" he tapped the Lake Alexander location "- and nothing more, no other traffic."

 The Spartans winced slightly; that would cost them heavily, especially in the CD credits BuReloc would no longer pay for services on Aegis, and in the foregone lift-capacity of the shuttle s surface-to-orbit runs.

 "Furthermore, I am referring this matter to my superiors. I warn you that there will at the least be heavy fines, particularly if me culprits in the murder of my officers are not found; I am asking for reinforcements," Presently there were only about a company of Garrison Marines on Sparta. "Possibly a CoDominium blockade of this planet for violations of the Laws of War will be ordered."

 This time faces paled. Bronsons aid to the Helots was already clandestine, and would not be affected.

The Royal government would face riots and collapse, particularly in the cities. Sparta was only semiindustrialized, it simply could not function without off-planet supplies; was more vulnerable than a truly primitive world Tkne, Owensford thought, and cleared his throat.

 "Colonel Karantov, if you please. I have a further complaint with regard to violations of the Laws of War."

 Karantov raised his eyebrows, and the Helots' eyes turned to the Legion officer like turrets tracking.

 "As to offenses committed against civilians, or among indigenous armed forces, that is beyond my jurisdiction." Karantov looked wistful; he was old enough to remember times when a CoDominium officer's word was law in such matters, and had been a grown man when the Fleet was still arbiter of all conflicts.

 "The offense concerns a member of Falkenberg's Legion," Owensford said, He felt a chill satisfaction as Skilly leaned over and spoke rapidly to a subordinate, who began to tap frantically at an opened laptop. A buzz broke out from Croser's party, until he cut it off with a knife-hand running too sodding thin for comfort, Mr. Murasald. If the Grand Senator has this pinned on him - and I'm pretty conspicuous - he'd lose half his influence in the Fleet, and every second mere on all the hundred planets would be taldng potshots at his people and interests -"

 "Jeffi," Sidlly said, without taking her eyes from the Meijian.

 The meeting was taking place in a farmhouse northwest of Colchis; the Movement had financed the owner, decades ago. Land on the Eurotas was cheap, and mostly free once you were a day's ride away from the river, but equipment was expensive. A few thousand Crowns had made the difference between peasant misery and modest comfort for the owner and his family, enough for ploughs, harrows, a satellite dish for the children's education. In return couriers had a safe place to stop.... the sound and smell of cooking came up through the floorboards of the attic. It added an unreality to the meeting, Niles thought: death and conspiracy to the scent of fresh bread and a roast.

 "Jeffi," Skilly went on, "in case you not notice, mon, you working for Skilly now, not Earth Prime." She turned back to the Meijian. "Well?"

 He shrugged. "Operational security in the combat zone is your responsibility," he said.

 Sidlly shifted slightly; the Meijian did not tense, but the chilly air of the attic was fully of a coiled alertness.

 "Yoshida was in command of that post." the woman said. "He responsible, Murasald; should have his head, too."

 "No," Murasald said flatly. "I do not abandon my people."

 "Neither does Sidlly," the woman said. "Ones who ofied the mere fucked up by not hiding de evidence, and they pay." She smiled at the ghastly pun. "But Yoshida commander on site - he should have checked-"

 "Field Prime," Niles said. "If we just tightened the behavior of the troops up-"

 "Jeffi, shut up," Skilly said. She turned her head toward him; a slight trace of fear crept down the Englishman's spine. 'This the Revolution, Jeffi; we try fighting by your rabbiblanco rules, they loll us all in a month. That the reason their stinkin* Code there at all."

 Niles fell silent; usually it was a teasing joke when Sidlly referred to him as a rabbiblanco, white-ass.

Not this time.

 Murasald chuckled softly. "Not the way our enemies would put it, but moral considerations aside, quite accurate. The Law of War certainly has a conservative effect, making it difficult to fight wars with large or radical aims. It favors established, regular forces."

 He turned his attention to SkiDy once more. "I would remind you that Earth Prime's main goal is to humiliate the Legion. Not merely to defeat it, but to make Falkenberg and its individual members suffer, to cause them pain and anguish. So I was ordered."

 "Good, OK, absolutemente, once we win you can have them all fucked to death by donkeys - but not while it can backfire on we. Mon, Falkenberg got influence! He winning his war, too. We get him mad enough before Helots holding die planet, we gets the Legion an' twenty thousand meres from Kali knows where, them riding down in CD assault boats pretty likely. Nobody off-planet except maybe Lermontov much care what we do to Spartans, not enough to do much, but the meres be a different story"

 *Ts it certain that won't happen now?" Niles asked.

"Those pictures. Properly used, they might get quite a few volunteers."

 "Why?" Sidlly asked. "Not they fight."

 "Not everyone would agree," Niles said.

 "Jeffi, you crazy. Falkenberg, maybe he get mad enough, he talk them meres around, but it not they fight unless they get paid."

 "Yoshida shall be reprimanded," Murasaki said.

 Sidlly snorted. "And all you people, they out of the chain of command in my area," she said flatly. "No operations without regular Helot clearance."

 "As you wish. Field Prime," Murasald said, inclining his head. The two leaders stared at each other with mutual respect and equally absolute lack of trust. The Meijian rose and left without further word.

 Niles looked from the technoninja's back to Skilly's face. Alike, he thought with an inward shudder. How could I have missed it? What did that old book say about Kritias, the pupil of Socrates who had become one of the Thirty Tyrants?

 "When a man is freed from the bonds of dogma and custom, where wiU he run? He has gotten hose, of the soul if you like the word, or from whatever keeps a man on two feet instead of four. And now Kritias too is running on the mountains, with no more between him and his will than a wolf has."

 When Niles was a child he had loved Turkish Delight; on a visit, Adrian Bronson had grown tired of his whining and bought mm a whole box while they were at a county fair on the estate. Niles could remember the exact moment when pleasure turned to disgust, just before the nausea struck; he had never been able to eat the stuff again. No lessons like those you teach yourself, his grand uncle had said to his mother....

 "Sometimes Skilly think that one, he a sick puppy,"

she said meditatively, looking after the Meijian. "Ukes to hurt people. But terror only effective if it be used selective... Or maybe he not care so much who wins?

Maybe he bossman doan care?" Then her gaze sharpened, fixing on the Englishman's face.

 "Ah, Jeffi, Skilly think you maybe getting second thoughts, maybe think Skilly not been telling you everything," she said, grinning at him. 'Too late, me mon." She stepped closer, over the piled trunks and boxes, putting a hand under his chin. "River of fire and a river of blood between you and de old life now. You be Skilly's now, Jeffi. Skilly's and the Dreadful Bride's.

Come on, we got a long ride ahead and a battle to tight."

•o ^ ^ "You know, George, I'm breaking the Code," Barton said to the other officer beside him in the lounge of the blimp. "The unwritten sections, at least."

 "Oh?" The other man looked up from his laptop.

 The sunlight was fading outside, even from two thousand meters altitude; below the oblong shadow of the lighter-than-air craft had faded as darkness fell.

They were two hundred kilometers west of Mandalay now, anghng north across the bend of the Eurotas to reach the lands north of Olynthos. Below them were the vast marshes around Lake Lynkestis, not a light showing in all the area from horizon to horizon. The lounge was walled in clear plastic, a warm bubble of light in the vast black stillness; somehow the throbbing ofthe diesels was a lonely sound as they leaned back in their chairs with tobacco and coffee and brandy.

Behind them, the riding beacons of the other five aircraft were drifting amber spots.

 "Yeah. Gettin' emotionally involved with the clients."

 "I know how you feel," Slater said. "Homelike here, isn't it?"

 Barton pulled on his cigarette and nodded; they had a lot in common, despite Slater being half a generation younger. Both from the American southwest, he by birth and Slater by heritage. Their families were from country areas that had changed little since the coming of the CoDominium; where as recently as their teen-age years it had still been possible to pretend they lived as free men in a free country. Barton had been born in Arizona, and George Slater had visited kin there often enough. Slater's mother was a colonial from a largely American-settled planet as well.

 "Better than home, if it weren't for the war," Barton said. "After we - there I go again, after the clients win - I'm giving serious thought about buying back my contract from the Legion and making a go of it in the Royal Army."

 "Can't resist being a brigadier, eh?" Slater said, laughing silently. His face creased, leathery with long exposure to strange suns; he was a tall whipcord-lean man, brown hair sun-faded "It doesn't hurt," Barton said frankly. The pay isn't spectacular, he reminded himself. No better than what he'd been getting as a Captain in the Legion, considerably less than he'd usually made as an independent mere commander with Barton's Bulldogs, if you factored in the foreign-exchange difficulties. The opportunity to use his skills on a larger canvas was more important; it had not been easy, going back down the scale after having his own outfit. Before Falkenberg smashed it back on Tanith; that had been just business, of course. Business, and I was on the wrong side. Didn't used to be so clear cut, right side, wrong side. Now- Now it's important.

 "* be hanging up my guns in another few years no matter what," he went on, discarding a frayed toothpick and fishing another out of a pocket. He had picked that habit up on Thurstone, when tobacco was unavailable. "I'm damn near sixty, George. Long past time to think of settling down." Even with regenn, it was half a lifetime.

 "Me too," Slater replied. Barton glanced over at him in surprise. "Cindy doesn't think dragging the kids from one base to another is all that good an idea," he explained. "Wants them to have a home before they leave the nest. I always wanted land of my own; anyway, it's what I was raised to. Dad doesn't talk about it much, but he still remembers losing the ranch."

 And you'd waited long enough. Barton thought, with a certain wistful envy. Slaters father had been with Falkenberg since before he took over the nd CoDominium Marines, the unit that had followed him to become the Legion. His wife was a colonial, country-bom. They had four children, from three to ten.

 "For that matter," Barton said, "I think Pete Owensford wouldn't mind having a home. He may have found someone to share it with-"

 "That Halleck girl?"

 "Well, I notice he found reasons to visit the Halleck ranch, and now Lydia Halleck s in Sparta City for a year at University-"

 "Well, well," Slater said. "Hadn't heard that last part. Hell, Ace, we're none of us getting any younger.

And this is a good world, good in lots of ways."

 "Can't fault the Spartans for their terms," Barton said meditatively. Lateral transfer at their brevet ranks was the least of it; automatic Citizenship, landgrants ,.. with their Royal Army pay and partial Legion pensions thrown in, they would be well-to-do men by local standards.

 "Mmmm-/mi. And," Slater went on, "this place is one of the few I've seen whose government doesn't make me want to pinch my nose and 'holdeth aside tfie skirt of the garment.'"

 Barton's face went bleak. "Yeah. I like the people, too. Which is why I've started wanting to win even more than usual." You always did; a matter of  jerry PourneUe S.M. Stirling self-respect, the Code, and of course you lost fewer men that way.

 "Agreed." A shrug. "Of course, we're getting a lesson in what Christian Johnny always said, remember?

'Soldiers are the cleanup crew.'"

 One of Falkenberg's history lessons was on how seldom military men had much say in how their efforts were applied. Armed force was a blunt instrument in politics, liable to do more harm than good unless aimed with extreme precision. At best, it bought time and space for the political leaders to repair the political mistakes that had left no choice but violence in the first place.

 The other man nodded and sipped at his brandyDanmed good, he thought.

 "Well," he said, "at least this time we aren't hired by the ones who screwed up." To bury the evidence under the bodies.

 "Dad's looking into another matter," George Slater said. "Loyalties. It's easy to see what holds the Spartans to their cause. The Helots are another matter.

Whidocks working on political persuasion. We should too."

 "Sure," Barton said, "How?"

 "Oh, maybe remind them just what their leaders do.

Left their troops and ran like hell at the Dales, saved their skins by sacrificing everyone else. Get that story across, and the first time they get a setback it's every man for himself." Slater tamped tobacco into a pipe.

"It's not as if the people they're following are admirable. In anyway."

 "Maybe their troops don't know that-"

 "I'm sure they don't," Slater said. "If they did, would they stick?"

 "Maybe some would. Revolutionaries. I learned all about fanatics on Thurstone, hell, before you were bom- But it's something to dunk about." He looked at his watch. "Another day's work in Olynthos," he said.

Slater would be taking over there; it was the secondlargest city on Sparta, center of the Middle and Upper Valleys of the Eurotas. "And then on to the wilds of the north for me. Should be interesting."

<••"•"

 "Are you all right, Margreta?" Melissa asked. She had to lean close and put her ear to the young soldier's, given the noise level. "You're pale as a sheet."

 "I'm fine," Margreta shouted back. Her fingers were shaking slightly as she put on her helmet; the noise level dropped immediately, as the sonic sensors automatically filtered out the background. "It's just...

the news about Lieutenant Lefkowitz, you know?

Everyone in the Legion is -" Mostly mad enough to rip out veins with their teeth, she thought. With me, it's more personal. I've got to work with the animals who did that.

 Melissa nodded and gave the younger woman's shoulder a squeeze. Margreta smiled back. Be here. Be ready for possible extraction, were all the orders diat had come from her clandestine Helot contact.

 It had run through Fort Plataia like fire dirough standing grass, and die execution of die four Helots had done litde to calm the anger. The CoDominium audiorities had litde alternative but to accept diat as sufficient; the Legionnaires would not. The Brotherhoods seem to be almost as angry, Margreta diought. There had been a delegation of condolence, and a new rush of enlistments. Frightening to have die enemy's nature driven home so thoroughly, but diere was somediing in knowing you had a big family to protect you ... or at least avenge you.

 The new vehicle assembly bay was even louder than usual. Armored vehicles were moving down die at the pillar of smoke. The explosion was spectacular, but not really damaging. No secondary blasts .., "It's a diversion!" she shouted, "Get -"

 KRAK A Peltast rifle; the massive mm round smashed through one soldier's spine and out the front of his chest in a shower of bone and blood, ignoring his body armor as if it were tissue. Impact sledged him forward with his limbs flopping like a rag doll's. Margreta drew and dove for cover; her armored torso struck Melissa at the same moment, sending the slight Spartan woman four steps back on her heels toward the shelter of an APC.

Tlie Legionnaires free hand was reaching up to drag the otberwoman down into safety and - KRAK- The mm round, which would have punched through Melissa's center of mass if Margreta had not moved her, struck and stdmmed all along her arm from shoulder to fingertips instead, shattering bone and tearing muscle. She went down with limp finality, her head thudding into the tungsten-steel cleats of the personnel carrier's treads. KRAK Into the leg of the soldier she had shot, blasting it off at the shin.

 "God darrm\" Margreta shouted, pulling her communicator free and dropping the useless pistol from the other so that she could fumble a hypo from her belt and slap it against Melissa's neck. Gray skin, rapid breathing, sweat... shock.

 "Medic, dustoff, Ms. von Alderheim is down, repeat, dustoff soonest," she said. "Wound trauma, internal bleeding, multiple fractures of the right arm." The other Spartan trooper rose from his crouch and nred.

 'Talldns, Capital Seven here," a calm voice said from her hand unit. Her chest seemed to turn tight and squeeze; that was her Helot contact's codename.

"Make sure of the von Alderheim woman if you can.

Quickly."

 Goddam, she thought to herself. It seemed to come from some distant part of her mind, while her body and mouth did things on their own.

 "Guard Graffin von Alderheim," she said sharply, drawing her pistol and moving forward into the maze of parked vehicles. The soldier shouted uselessly behind her, and there was the heavy bwanggg of a Peltast round ricochetting off armor, sending him back to cover.

 "God damn." Dangerous, but she had to get out of the vicinity of Melissa. Otherwise, it would be difficult to explain her survival.

 And there were some things that you couldn't do even to keep your cover.

 "God damn, we Legionnaires are supposed to stop this sort of thing." That stopped her, for a moment. We. We had always been her and George, after Mother went away. A helicopter went by overhead, and she shook herself back to awareness.

 ^ CHAPTER SEVEN Thomas Cook if Company: Almanac of Interstellar Travel: Transit times for standard merchant charten (Standard Terran month of days) Earth - Sparta (via Tanith); months Tanith - New Washington/Franldin system; months New Washington - Sparta (via Tanith): months - all travel times may he reduced by 

 or more for naval couriers, warships or assault transports.

 •" ^ - When bad men combine, the good must associate; otherwise they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacriBce in a contemptible struggle.

 - Edmund Burice, Thoughts on the Cause of the Present Discontents <• -O- <• Further, war, which is simply the subjection of all life and property to one momentary aim, is morally vastly superior to the mere violent egoism of the individual; it develops power in the service of a supreme general idea and under a discipline which nevertheless permits supreme heroic virtue to unfold. Indeed, war alone grants to mankind the magnificent spectacle of a general submission to a general aim.

 -Jakob Burlchardt, Reflections on History <• ^ -V "The bones in the arm and shoulder were severely damaged. Shattered would not be too strong a word,"

the doctor said, with the impersonal sympathy of her craft. "Massive edema and tissue damage as well, from hydrostatic shock."

 Lysander listened, but most of his attention was elsewhere. Melissa's face was barely visible through die quartz view port in the regeneration tank universally known as a mummy case. Her head was covered with a white surgical bandage but it looked more like an old fashioned night cap. There was no makeup, but she seldom wore much anyway, and enough remained of her tan to give some illusion of healthy color. She looked relaxed, even peaceful, but very helpless, and very still. She's always been so active. And now - A nurse shouldered through, studied displays and touched a few of the controls around the cocoon-like capsule of the regeneration tank, andleft silently. There were half a dozen Life Guards outside the door, and a sandwich-armor slab closed off the window, but otherwise the small private room in the St. Thomas Royal Hospital was nothing out of the ordinary. Every ward was overcrowded with war casualties, and the regeneration clinics more than any.

 Lysander swallowed, holding his helmet awkwardly in hands that suddenly felt too big. Freiherr von Alderheim was there, looking somehow deflated; Lysander's father was there as well. holding himself erect now, but with an effort that showed the stoop lurking beneath it. Recovery from the enemy's virus attack was preceding, but still slowly. Queen Adriana stood by, holding her husband's arm, almost visibly willing strength into it.

 God, I hate hospitals, Lysander thought. There was the smell, of course, but that wasn't as strong as in a battlefield surgical unit. Mostly there was a feel of sickness to them, a concentrated misery that soaked into the walls themselves.

 "That's fairly straightforward regenn work. though,"

Dr. Ruskin continued; her fingers touched the scanner equipment tucked into the loops of her green gown slightly nervously. This was rather distinguished com ferry PoumeUe S.hf. Stirling pany for a sickroom. "At least seventy-five percent, possibly complete recovery. It's the neurological damage that had us worried most of the morning. Ten hours of Sir Harlan's best work. It was, well, what he was able to do was wonderful, that's all."

 "She will recover?" von Alderheim asked "Yes, we think so."

 She doesn't sound very sure, Lysander thought.

 "And she can still have children?" von Alderheim insisted.

 "Yes, there were no injuries of that land," the doctor said. This time she sounded much more confidant.

 "Does she know we're here?" Queen Adriana asked.

 "No, Madame," Dr. Rusldn said. "We're using a neurological hookup to keep her asleep until the regeneration stimulation process takes hold."

 "So there's no point in her father and my son staying here?"

 "I wish they wouldn't," Rusldn said. "We're terribly crowded, and some of the staff are awfully young; they want to see His Highness close up, and that can be disruptive. It really would be better if you go back and wait at the Palace. We'll let you know in plenty of time before we wake her up."

 "She shouldn't be alone," Lysander said. "We failed her. I failed. Her and the whole planet, I can't protect them and -"

 "Nonsense," the Queen said. "You can't be everywhere at once."

 "I know, Mother, but-" • "And the doctor is right, Lysander, We are in the way."

 "How long? Until she wakes up?" Lysander demanded.

 "Nine days minimum. More likely eleven."

 "Hmm. You're certain there's nothing we can do here?"

 "Nothing but get in the way," the doctor said. "You could go say a few words to anyone off duty in the staff lounge. They all want to see you. But otherwise-"

Her voice softened. "You needn't worry that she'll be neglected. Highness. There's no one here who doesn't love the Princess. Soon to be Princess. We'll have her well in time for the-wedding, Prince Lysander. I swear it."

 'Thank you. And there's work to do." He started toward the door, then went back inside the room alone after the others left. Lysander, Prince of Sparta, put both hands on the tank and spoke quietly. "I'm sorry,"

he said- He straightened and looked at the blocked off window as if he could see through to the city outside, to the city and the countryside beyond. "I'm sorry." He stood that way a long time. When he turned to leave, his face might have been carved from stone.

•&• ^ ^ Dion Croser stepped to the edge of the dais and raised his hands. Silence fell across the stadium like a ripple through the ocean of forty thousand faces, all turned toward him. Behind him his image stood, fifty meters high on the great screen; he flashed his famous grim smile and leaned his hands on the lectern. It was hill night, but the blazing rectangles of light all around the upper tiers made a white day of the sloping seats, shutting out the dark and the stars. Searchlights stood between them, shining vertical pillars thousands of meters up into the sky until they merged into a canopy of white haze; between them were giant Movement banners, the black circle on red with the red = sign in its midst.

 "Victory!" he said.

 The word rolled and boomed back from the ampi theatre, and the crowd roared. A wave of pure noise that thudded into you like a fist in the gut. Terrifying, if you were the crowd's enemy. Exhilaration beyond words when die adoration of the many-throated beast struck. The stadium was just off Government House Square; they would be hearing it in the Palace . . .

hearing it in every house in Sparta City.

 Power, he thought. This is power.

 The sound went on and on, building until the ground shook with it; the white-noise surf of it gradually modulating as the disciplined blocks of NCLF militants chanted.

 "Dion the Leader! Dion to Power!" More and more falling in with the chant. "DION THE LEADER!

DION TO POWER!"

 He listened, waiting for the peak moment; they were like some smooth sculptor's material under his command, and he could feel threads of unity stretching out from his mind to each of theirs. The sound was unaltered, but he could feel a moment s smooth pause inside himself, like the hesitation of water at the top of a fountain s arc. He raised his hands, and silence fell like a curtain into an aching void.

 "My people," he said, and there was a sigh like a vast moan.

 You are my people, he thought. Foolish and brutish and short-sighted, you are what others have made you. Made you, and then despised you for it; but you will follow me. and I will give you back your pride.

Make you worthy of yourselves.

 "My people - the people of Sparta! Tonight we come here together to celebrate a great victory, a victory over oppression, over arrogant elitism. For half a year, we have campaigned together in the Constitutional referendum- Peacefully -"

 - except for the riots and so forth - "- we have gone from neighborhood to neighborhood, from town to town. explaining our just cause - the cause of democracy, of universal sufferage and human equality. Not once have we forbidden those who oppose us, those who have usurped the People's power, from arguing against us. Tonight we see the results!"

 It was a warm early-summer night, and the lights and crowd made it a hot one; he could feel the thin film of sweat on his face fighting with the makeup artist's powder, and trickling down his flanks. Smell it as well. That did not bother him; it was a sign of honest labor, of the labor that had earned him this prize. He made a small motion with the fingers of his left hand, and behind him numbers sprang out across the simulacrum of his own face.

 "Two thirds have voted yes to the great question of our day: Should all Spartans share equally in the sovereign franchise of citizenship as their inalienable right? The People have spoken! Let those who dare deny their voice and their right!"

 Another roar, harder this time, with an undertone of guttural menace that bristled the hair along his spine.

 "Fellow Spartans - fellow citizens -" another crashing bark of cheering "- our struggle has been long and difficult. I must confess," and he lowered his eyes, "there was a time when I too, was heedless of the sufferings of the people - better than the corrupt clique around the self-appointed kings only because I was ignorant rather than callous."

 Another wash of sound, denial this time.

 "Yes! But I went to the People, learned from the People -" he raised his face, letting humility slide into an expression of iron determination "- and together, we built the Movement. Only a few of us at first, but  jerry Poumelle b S M Sdrfrng more and more as the years went by. The vanguard of the People, building their power brick by brick."

 He gripped the sides of the lectern, leaning forward and letting his voice go low and confidential. The sound-system here was excellent.

 "The kings thought they could stop us with bribes and lies, by having the Milice and the RSMP break heads. Many of our brave comrades -" he shot one hand out towards the NCLF contingents, with their Party banners inscribed with the names of the martyrs "- have fallen. Yet not once have we answered their provocations in land, despite the brutalities, the brutalities that have driven some poor souls into the hills. Helots in truth, ground down under the heel of militarism - and while we cannot condone their actions, we understand only too well their reasons.

 "And that is how we'll build the New Order - brick by brick, with discipline and patience. First, we'll present the results of the people s will to the kings.

Then, whether they agree or not - because those same results show that ours is the rightful authority - we'll hold elections for the Constitutional Convention, and there we, the People's choice, will make a new Sparta, one that will produce something besides the endless taxes and war and poverty the kings and their flunkies have brought us. And then we'll elect a government of the people!"

 "DION THE LEADER! DION TO POWER!

DION! DION! DION!"

 This time he let it go on much longer, falling away raggedly into silence.

 "But," he said, then paused while the quiet built.

"But. If the Royalist clique refuse to heed the people's will then - if they try to turn the guns of the bandits and misguided youngsters they calTthe Royal Spartan Army on us - why, then -" His lean, slab-and-angle face contorted, and a fist crashed down on the podium.

"They'll feel the people's anger!"

 A chopping gesture cut short the answering howl. "I make not threats." he continued blandly. "United, we'll carry the people's cause to victory. You have done a great deal, and there's a great deal more to be done.

Tonight, enjoy your well-earned victory."

 He drew himself up, and gave the Movement salute, fists denched and wrists crossed over his head, then wheeled and walked briskly through the door beneath the huge overhead display screen.

 "Congratulations, Leader!"

 He waved to the crowd of NCLF functionaries; his bodyguards closed in around him, protecting from all but a few of the hands thrust forward. Croser walked slowly, grabbing the proffered hands and calling people by name, he made a point of knowing as many as he could. Fragments reached him: best speech ever and, inspiring. It was that, he thought critically; a firstrate professional job of work, if he did say so himself.

Oratory and organization were the basic skills of the revolutionist, and he had both.

 There were only a few of the inner circle in the room where he sat to let the specialists sponge off the makeup.

One of them was Murasaki, he thought - it was difficult to tell, with the Meijian - but most were section-heads and the analytical staff, going over the effect of the referendum campaign and the meeting tonight on public opinion.

 'That should throw about one percent of the Citizen body to us," the senior statistician was saying.

"About two percent to the SCA. Unfortunately, itu also firm up most of the rest with this new Crown Loyalist Party."

 Croser scowled slightly, holding out his fingers for a cigarette before he stripped off the tunic and began to you'd find out. bit of irony there you never did- Anyway, one night they went to a charity thing, and Croser was there with that Sidlly. He got drunk, started talking to her about you and what you'd be doing on Tanith. I don't know what all was said, but it ended up she slapped Croser hard across the face and walked out. Looked for a minute like Croser was going to do something about that, but nothing came of it. But he sure didn't like it, and neither did that Skilly."

 "I never knew - But that's not reason to have her lolled!"

 "Might be to him," Whitlock said. "Just might be, and if she said the wrong things about that SidBy person, there'd be another. But the real reason to kill her is to get at you. If they thought she didn't like you, thought she was goin* through with this marriage for politics, she'd be safe enough, they'd purely love to have you in a bad marriage where you're likely to do something stupid.

But the way you two been canyin' on, like love birds, it's pretty clear you made up whatever problems you had, and that's not so good, the way they see it."

 "What the heB is it to them?"

 "Come off it. Highness," Whitlock said. "You got to know, for all practical purposes right now you are the nation. Oh, sure, people love your father, but they think of him as the old king, nice old man, symbol of the nation and all that, but still, he's the old king. And they trust David to do what's best if there's peace, but there ain't no peace, and they don't see there'll be -any peace without you make it happen. Now most times maybe its best you don't act like you know all this, but this is a time for some plain talk. Whatever future this experiment in the good society has got, right now it pretty much rests on you."

 Lysander didn't say anything. Whitlock nodded.

"So, we got that straight. Now, about Croser."

 "But - Dr. Whidock, he's been careful, there's no evidence to connect him or his political movement with any of this. No criminal acts."

 "Well, that's right, and if that's what you're waiting for, you'll never get it," Whitlock said. "Son, a long time ago a man named Burke said that for evil to win all that's got to happen is that good men do nothin'.

That's happening here. You're in a war, and you got to fight it like a war."

 "And if we get like the enemy what's the point of winning?"

 "That's what King David's always sayin'," Whidock said. "Your father, too, sometimes, not so much now.

Lysander, let me tell you something, you couldn't in a million years be like them even if you was to work at it." Whidock studied papers on his desk for a moment"You better think about it. I'll go on plannin' the politics for you, and Pete Owensford will go on fightin' the enemy for you, good men will go on dyin' for you, and hell, it may be enough. Prince Lysander, it just may be enough, and maybe you got a point. You've got a decent government, and Lord knows I'd hate to see it turn mean, but you better think. Your Highness. Just how many of your people are you willing to see killed just so Citizen Dion Croser can have his legal rights?"

 ^ CHAPTER EIGHT To be a general it is sufficient to pay well, command well, and hang well.

 - Sir Ralph Hopton circa •"<•<• The discipline enforced by firing squad or pistol is inferior to that accepted, self-imposed discipline which characterizes good soldiers. Regulations designed to keep dull-witted conscripts together on the shoulder-to-shoulder battlefields of theblackpowder era are inappropriate in an age when weapons and tactics demand dispersion on the battlefield, and when the initiative may be more important than blind obedience. In the last analysis fighting spirit centres on the morale of the individual soldier and the small group of comrades with whom he fights.

 -John Keegan and Richai-d Holmes; Soldiers •O <• <• If I learned nothing else from war, it taught me the falseness of the belief that wealth, material resources, and industrial genius are the real sources of a nation's military power. These things are but the stage setting: those who manage them but the stage crew.

 The play's the thing. Finally, every action large or small is decided by what happens there on the line where men take the final chance of life or death. And so in the final and greatest reality, that national strength lies only in the hearts and spirits of men.

 -S.L. A. Marshall ^ - •> Crofton's Encyclopedia of the Inhabited Planets (nd Edition): Stora Mine: Mining settlement in the southern foothills of the Kuprwi Mountains (q.v.), north of Lake Alexander in the Upper Valley section of the Eurotas river, on the planet Sparta (q.v-).

The initial CoDominium University survey of Sparta indicated that the eroded volcano later christened Stonioerg contained unusual concentrations of metallic ores. Researchers hypothesized that during the original uplift process which produced the Kupros Mountains, a "plug" of freakishly mineral-rich magma was extruded through a fissure. Over time, the rapid erosive forces produced by Sparta's . G stripped away the covering of softer rock, exposing the core and depositing alluvial metal deposits extensively in the area. The rock of northern slopes of the mountain contains up to 

 copper, 

 lead, 

 silver and significant quantities of platinum, palladium and thorium group metals; locally higher concentrations are studded through the mass of the mountain and nearby deposits of "ruddle" hematite have iron contents of up to 

. Exploratory mining began during the period of CoDominium administration and full-scale exploitation commenced with the chartering of Stora Mines Inc. in .

Both open-pit and shaft mining is carried on; facilities include a geothermal power plant, smelters and concentration plants, the -kilometer electrified railway to Lake Alexander, and miscellaneous support, maintenance and repair industries.

 Description: The settlement of Stora Mine lies on an eroded peneplane at the northeastern edge of Storaberg Mt. Built-up areas are largely confined to "ribbon" developments along the valleys of the northeast-southwest tending ridges. The central town is laid out on a grid basis, forming an H surrounding two public squares, and includes a business district, public buildings and the railroad station. Total population () is ,, including many temporary workers housed in company barracks.

Climate is severe, roughly analogous to northeastern Minnesota or southern Siberia; the longer seasons make this a loose comparison, however. The sflt-hlled basins and rocky hills of the piedmont zone running down to the lakeshore have been extensively developed to supply the mining labor force and enjoy more moderate temperatures...

 •^ -V •O There is a semi-facetious classification of officers long familiar to many of the military fraternity. It does credit to the understanding of its unknown originator as well as to his sense of humor. Its lightly sketched implications when further explored and a little amplified approached conclusions that are not so humorous. Using the terms "brilliant," "energetic," "stupid," and "lazy" and applying them to a selected group of people of whom  jerry PoumeUe if SM. Stirling i the stupidest and laziest may still be well above the average of brilliance and energy in the general community, a scale for measurement of certain aspects of individual military potential may be constructed....

 Tile Class Four officer we must study diligently, to devise the means of identifying him in, and eliminating him from, the military services. The combination of stupidity and energy is the formula of ambition other than a laudable kind. The ambition generated is too often entirely personal and totally unconcerned with any elements contributing to the general welfare that are not also an occasion of individual preferment , . . Morally courageous he is not, since this quality is all too often incompatible with personal ambition. Given experience, he may be to a degree learned. He may be cautious, crafty, cunning, and is seldom lacking in decisiveness, but he can never be wise, just, loyal, or completely honest. All too often he achieves a personally successful military career. Energetic stupidity, once invested with authority and allowed to accumulate experience, can do a convincing imitation of a hard driving professional soldier...

 -Joseph Maxwell Cameron, The Anatomy of Military Merit •" <• ^ Winter still lay heavy on the southern slopes of the Kupros Mountains. The dawn was bright but hard, and the cold wind sighed mournfully through the branches of the dark pines and leafless birch-trees.

These mountains were not as high as the Drakons; the quick erosion of a heavy-gravity world had scoured them down, although the peaks were still glaciercrowned fangs four thousand meters high. The lower slopes were a wilderness of canyon and gully badland, tumbled boulders larger than houses, rushing torrents and new forests just gaining a foothold amid the shattered granite and volcanic scree.

 Skida Thibodeau sat looking thoughtfully down me long slope toward the foothills; Lake Alexander was invisible beyond. Cloud-shadow moved across the huge chaotic landscape, and the young sun tinged the snowdrifts with pink. An orderly handed her a cup of coffee, and she chewed on a ration bar, a leather of fruits and nuts. It was cold enough to make the hairs in her nostrils stick together when she inhaled, but snow might begin to melt by midaftemoon; weather turned quictdy this time of year in the Upper Valley.

 "OK," she said after a moment. "Von Reuther, how are the troops?"

 "Those in the latest wave from the Dales are now fully rested. The first arrifals are restless." The German-born ex-CD officer had been in charge of keeping the inflow inconspicuous until she arrived.

"Some attempted to desert."

 "We doan allow no deserters."

 "Ja, we know how to deal with those." The German shrugged- "We have done so. But these are not regular soldiers, and we are short of non-commissioned officers. Too many were lost covering our retreat in the Dales."

 "Hard fight, but we win in the Dales," Skilly said.

"Victory there. Show we can stand up to the Cits."

 "I agree. And so we tell the recruits," von Reuther said evenly. "But they were also told they will win soon.

They believe this, but one does not leam patience in Welfare Island. The war goes on, for many longer than anything they have ever done in their miserable lives."

 "You knew what kind of recruits you were getting,"

Skilly said. Her voice hardened. "You tell me you know how to make soldiers out of them. You say CoDos been doing that for fifty years, taking gangbanger homeboys and making them Marines."

 "And so we have. Field Prime. But we do not also hide from police while we train CoDominium Marines, ja? When they graduate they parade, people cheer, pretty girls admire uniforms. Not here." He straightened formally. "Field Prime, if you are not satisfied with my performance-"

 "You not thinking of quitting on Skilly?" Everyone in the room stiffened, and tension mounted. Then,  jerry PoumeUe ' S M Stirling suddenly, she grinned wolfishly. "You doin' fine. Doan worry so much. Everything goin' just like we want."

 The Helots had been moving men and supplies from the Dales to the Kupros in dribs and drabs since the midwinter battles. It was a long way from the Dales, north and east along the foothills. Longer when you had to move in small bodies and take extreme care not to be observed. The Kupros held few people away from the mining settlements, but there were ranches in Ae hill-and-basin country of the piedmont, and the odd trapper elsewhere.

 "You want fighting, we do that, all right. Now listen up, everyone." The dozen or so commanders leaned closer. "Operational plans you all got, so Field Prime will tell you the general stuff again. We not trying to hold what we take, but this be no hit-and-run, either.

Two overall objectives: temporary economic damage, maybe some loot, but mainly we demoralize the militia. Then it easier next time."

 She dusted her hands, set the cup down on the pine needles and wrapped her arms around her knees. The hard wolfish faces about her were intent. Everything seemed very clear: von Reuther's methodical clockmind making notes, Two-knife's rock solidness, Niles still with a little of the detached air - not as much, maybe he getting over it; this fight show it one way or the other - the others frowning a Hide- One of them raised a hand.

 "Field Prime, the original planning called for maximum attack on off-world mining equipment. May I ask why that's been changed?" They were all aware of the importance of denying the Royalists foreign exchange to buy weapons systems.

 "Because, Hemandez, due to our, ah, consultants, and other things which you got no need to know, the overall schedule been moved up. We be needing CD credits and Friedlander marks someday too. And maybe von Reuter getting them parades he wants sooner than we think."

 Predatory grins at that. None of these men intended to live in caves for the rest of their lives.

 "OK," Skilly continued. "So you got the schedule of targets, stuff they can replace but not quick. Now, basic, this is a terror raid. Remember, though, it selective terror. We has to show the workers they should be more afraid of us than the Royalists, and the Cits that fighting us is no way to protect their households -just the opposite, that the fact. Useless if they think we kill everyone no matter what they do.

Understand me? We want to demoralize, not make cornered rats. Collateral damage in the course of operation be fine; any unauthorized murder, rape, looting or arson, I want punished quick and public and hard. Skilly will hang anyone not understand that.

 "So," she went on, after meeting the eyes of each.

"Next, we gots to have real careful timing. Troops, they full of beans and think they can lick the world, we convinced them we won the Dales fight. They believe that, doan matter what really happen." And they do fight good. AU of them. For a moment she remembered the provisional companies left behind to protect the retreating leadership. No omelets without eggs.

Too many eggs that time, but Skilly leam. "Good they got confidence, bad if they be getting the stuffing knocked out. Better we not believe our own propaganda; we still no able to fight the enemy on their own terms. We make them fight on our terms. First -"

<-<•<"

 "It's a good computer system," the milita staff chief of Stora Mine said; the commander was out with the troops. "Only as good as the input, of course, but it does help us coordinate things on the security side."

 "I see." Ace Barton was deliberately noncommittal.

 They were a very long way indeed from Sparta City - seven thousand kilometers or more by river, about half that as the crow flew - in an area crucial to the war effort- The windows on one side of this room showed the reason why. The great openpit mine had been operating for fifty years, but it had only just begun to make a mark on the jagged side of the mountain, itself a lone outlier of the Kupros range that stretched across the northern horizon. A semicircular bite had been taken out of its side, stepping up the striated rock in smooth terraces; there were huge diesel-electric trucks at work there now, hauling down the ore blasted free from the face. Another charge went off, and hundreds of tonnes slid slowly down to lie in a nibbled pile. As the dust clouds settled, hundreds of overalled figures swarmed forward with pneumatic hammers, while others waited with scoop-loaders.

 The manager - her name was Oiafson - nodded when she noticed the direction of his eyes.

 "Bit archaeological, the technique, but it's actually cheaper than sonic crushers and robots," she said cheerfully. "Cheaper than asteroid mining, even, zfwe watch the costs carefully. This is an unusual formation: copper, silver, thorium and platinum, iron, nickel.

Mechanical crushing, then powdering, chemical separation, magnetic; we ship the easier stuff in ingot form down the railway to the lake, south to the Vulcan rapids by barge and then down to Olynthos over the railway around those. Powdered slurry along the same route for the more refractory materials. We run some shaft mines underground as well, and this is the collection point for a lot of independent outfits up in the hills." A scowl. "Or was, before the bandits got so bad."

 She indicated the jagged line of the mountains.

 "We've got a geothermal power station here as well, about MW, so what with one thing and another we've become the second center of the Upper Valley, after Olynthos."

 Anselm Barton had been examining the retrieval system; it was like much else on Sparta, a cobbledtogether compromise. Bulky locally-made display monitors, rather than the thin-film liquid crystal units made elsewhere, and multiple terminals routed through ordinary laptops into the mainframe unit. That was a featureless cube about three times the size of a briefcase, hooked in turn to a databank about the same size "Earth-made?" he asked "Earth's systems are overpriced junk." Oiafson replied with a snort; her civilian hat was deputy vice-president for operations of Storaberg Mines Inc.

"No, from Xanadu. Thirty years old, and still works like a charm." She nodded again at his unspoken question.

"Yes, we check for viral infiltration regularly, and we've had your people up on the link too, once a week. That what brings you here?"

 "Part of it. We've brought some technicians along with us," Barton said. He was nervous about thatHowever careful these people were, they were working with old equipment and they were provincials.

The Legion's own computers had Read Only Memory programming; efficient for military use, but not flexible enough for a civilian operation. And Murasaki's technoninjas are just too damn good with computers.

 "Tart of it. What's the rest of it?" she demanded.

"You're here with your headquarters groups, Legionnaires at the landing field, and two battalions more on the way- Something's up?"

 "Well, not really. Bit of paranoia- Here, show off your system."

 "No problem," Oiafson said. "Here's how we've "Not in here, sir. But there's a couple in the corridor, and I'll bet my arse the computer system's been penetrated. Ma'am, if you'd just put your hand on this plate for me. Now the other hand here. Excellent.

How's the weather outside? Know any Helots?"

 Fury and curiosity were fighting it out on Karen Olafson's face. Curiosity won. "All right. General, what isthis?"

 Barton got another nod from Sergeant Bielslds.

"They're planning something," Ace said. "Something big, from the number of troops they've been infiltrating into this area. Damned near a regiment."

 "I - how do you know that?"

 "Luck. Good and bad luck. The good luck was one of their deserters got to sleeping with a local girl, one night tried to warn her to get away before this week.

Bad luck was local intelligence decided not to risk sending it on the wire-"

 "Or telling me," Karen said indignantly.

 "Yes, ma'am. But it took a week for the report to reach Captain Alana. Since then we've seeded some of Mace's scouts into the area. Something's up, all right.

Something big and ugly."

 "Oh, God- You said 'this week.'"

 "Yep. So. First thing I want you to do is shut things down," Barton said. "Close off all mine operations while we do some security checks. Do it slow, make it look like routine maintenance, but start buttoning up and getting your irreplaceables secured, and I mean start right now. I'm particularly worried about that computer system. You rely on it too much."

 "We can't operate without it-"

 "Exactly. Andy, I want Jenny and her techs to go over this place and put in manual backups for the security stuff, especially all the control systems. That bloody computer is a point failure threat, and I don't like it. It goes down, we have a hell of a job controlling things."

 "Yes, sir. We'll start in the morning-"

 "No, Sergeant, you'll start tonight," Ace Barton said.

"And we'll just damned well pray it's not too late."

 •- •" ^ Warrant Officer Jennifer Schramm poured coffee and sprawled in a plastic chair that couldn't have been very comfortable. It was well after midnight.

 "You look like you can use a break," Ace Barton said "General, that's a fact."

 "How much have you got done?"

 "About half of it," she said. "I've got manual activation lines for the mine fields. Some bypass communications, but we're running out of optical fiber."

 "More coming in tomorrow," Barton said. "What does the computer know you've done?"

 "Nothing, sir. Well, it knows we shut down its access to some controls for a while, but as far as it's concerned everything's normal again. What we did, we've jury rigged a manual control console. Throw a couple of big switches and the computer's bypassed, you've got manual control." She sipped coffee. "Frankly, General, I'm amazed at how much they trusted to chat damn computer."

 Think it's been penetrated?"

 "I know it has been."

 Ace frowned. "How do you know?"

 "Well, I don't really, but I feel it. Fault logs. They're squeaky clean, General Barton, and I don't like that.

It's like something was erased, maybe. Same for access records. Some of them are missing."

 "Missing?"

 "Yes, sir. Again, it just looked too damn clean so I got Andy to have a talk with a couple of the techs, and of course they were playing war games on the damn computer - and there's no record of it. Uke someone wiped the access record files."

 "The techs-"

 "No, sir. Look, playing games might get them docked an hours pay at worst, if anyone really gave a damn, but erasing logs, mat's a firing offense, and they bloody know it."

 Barton touched his communication card. "Wally."

 "Honistu here."

 "Wally. take a break. Come drink some coffee and put your feet up."

 "Well, a little busy, but that sounds right, sir."

 Jennifer looked a question.

 Barton smiled. "Bight. Wally's been with me a long time. My adjutant in Barton's Bulldogs. Way I asked him made it an order."

 "You really think they're listening to everything?"

Jennifer asked.

 Ace shrugged. This room's secure, don't know about the rest. Tell you this, if the computer's bugged, the control room is. And Andy found a bug in the corridor. It shouldn't have been there, not smart to put one there."

 "Too easy to find?"

 "Something like that. Not obvious, but not that hard to find either. Almost like maybe it's an early warning?

Maybe so when we disable it they know we've found it? I don't know. I can't think the way the rebels do."

 Major Honistu came in and closed the door. Tm damn busy. General. What's up?"

 "Sit down, Wally, and let's talk a minute. Jenny doesn't like what she's finding in the computer. More like what she's not finding."

 Honistu nodded judicially. "I got the same ugly feeling. General. Add in the intelligence reports, and we got problems."

 "Right. What you're doing out there is important, but so is doing a bit of thinking while we have the chance. Lets talk."

 •" <• Alarms rang in the corridor.

 "That'll be it," Ace Barton said. "OK, Wally, get moving. I'll be in central control." He led Warrant Officer Schramm up the corridor while Honistu ran off in the other direction.

 Karen Olafson sat at the central console. An alarm wheeped softly, and one screen blinked red. She looked up as Barton came in. "Emergency Network.

The Torrey estate is under attack."

 The screen showed a man in combat armor thrown on over indoor clothes. Tall, with rather long brown hair and a flamboyant mustache, in his thirties.

 "Alan, this is General Barton."

 "Barton. Alan Torrey here," he said; he spoke with the accent of an American of the taxpayer class. "I'm definitely under attack, by a company or better. They overran the RSMP post up at the Velysen place, then hit here. We stopped them butt-cold."

 A grim smile; Barton decided that he rather liked Citizen Alan Torrey.

 "All my people are armed, I won't employ anyone I can't trust. That gives us nearly a hundred guns, and we've been preparing for this. The problem is the Militia reaction-force from Danniels Mill; they came running, and hit an ambush about four kilometers south of here. Had to fight their way off the road and onto a hill; they've taken better than fifty casualties, and they need help bad. I can't do it, we're holding in our bunkers but if we come out their mortars will slaughter us."

 A man burst through the door of the operations control center. He was hastily buckling on armor.

"General alert, Karen. General, we're sure glad you're here."

 "My husband and partner," Karen said.

 "Karl Olafson, general co-manager and Major of the nd Brotherhood, for my sins. Alan, can you give me a relay?"

 "Here."

 This time the screen split. "Captain Solarez here, Major Timmins is down." The new figure was crouched in a shallow hole behind a rock, with a wounded communications tech lying beside him and operating the pickup. Small-arms and explosions sounded from the background.

 "Report, Captain," the militia Major said.

 "I've got thirty dead, sixty wounded and three hundred effectives, that counts the walking wounded. We had to leave most of our heavy weapons with the transport. The enemy have us under visual observation and they're sending us heavy fire, medium mortars, and mm recoilless rifles, heavy machine guns. Nothing fancy but they've got plenty of it. We've beaten off one attack already, in company strength."

 A map of the militia position came up; squares indicated possible enemy dispositions. The Brotherhood fighters held a dome-shaped rise, as high as anything in the vicinity; the road wound past it.

following the low ground up from the shores of the lake. The gap into the sedimentary basin that held the Torrey estate was still two kilometers north and west, but the picture-pickup showed columns of smoke from that direction.

 "Major, I can hold here but not forever," the captain went on. "We've no water except the canteens, very little in die way of other supplies, and I'm taking steady losses. Either someone tries to pull us out, or we'll have to fight our way through to the Torrey's. This is obviously bigger than we thought."

 "Hold," Karl Olafson said. "We'll come get you."

 Ace Barton spoke. "What do you have on hand, Major?" he asked.

 "Our security battalion, Brigadier," the miner replied. 'There's another Brotherhood reaction-force battalion here, mobilizing now, I'll leave those. We've got a little surprise, a six-gun battery of mm gun-howitzers, just up from thevon Alderheim plant in Olynthos. And plenty of trucks, we'll take the mine vehicles. Pick up more infantry at the rally-point at Danniels Mill, and mounted scouts to cover our flanks."

 Barton picked his words with care; interfering in the local chain of command was not something to be done lightly. 'This isn't going to be anything you can handle," he said. 'They're risking too much for just a raid. They've got something much bigger in mind. The mine itself, for a guess. You go out there and they'll ambush you just like they did the original relief force."

 Major Olafson nodded. "We'll be careful. And counting the second-line people and the perimeter guardposts, that still leaves the equivalent of a complete rifle-regiment here. It's a chance, sir," he said.

"But one we've got to take."

 Barton signed agreement; that instant concern was a weakness of these friends-and-neighbors militia outfits, as well as a strength.

 "Hell," the militia officer went on, "with nearly a thousand men and artillery, I don't think we'll have much trouble chewing up anything they send at us."

 Barton had been writing on a pad of engineering paper. He handed that to Olafson. DONT REPLY TO THIS. THIS ROOM IS BUGGED. GO FIND MAJOR HONISTU AND PAY ATTENTION TO HIM "I expect you're right," Barton said aloud. He tapped the paper again. "Not much can happen to a force that size.

Godspeed, then. Who'll hold operational command here?"

 "I was hoping you would, sir."

 "Right." Barton wrote quickly VITAL YOU SEE HONISTU. He watched Olafson leave and turned back to the console. Bad luck. Not enough time to make a real plan. I've got a bad feeling about this one.

^ •> ^ "Good," Sidda murmured to herself.

 Her face-shield was showing the input from a pickup three kilometers south. An armored car led out the gate between two pillboxes, trailed by a huge boxy mine-clearing vehicle. Trucks followed it, x models crowded with infantry in mottled-white winter camouflage and Nemourlon armor; they towed heavy mortars or two-wheel carts with ammunition and supplies. A string of them, and then two of the big ore trucks. Those pulled cannon, medium jobs with the long barrels turned and clamped over the trails, riding on four-wheeled carriages. More trucks...

 She turned to the Meijians clustered around their equipment. 'This had better work," she grated.

 One of them looked up and bowed slightly. "We are downloading into the enemy mainframe even now, Field Prime," he said politely. "There will be too little time for the enemy to react."

 As was explained before, went unspoken. The Legion techs were doing random sweeps of the more vital Royal Army machines, of which the Stora Mine was one. No way to leave the pirate taps in for any length of time.

 She grunted assent and turned to a display table showing an overview of the mine and town. Too much here depended on the Meijians; too much on the NCLF"s secret apparat. Neither the technoninjas nor Croser's people had ever failed her seriously before...

but this was the first time so large a Helot force had depended on them so totally.

 And we not just fighing the hicks. Barton. Barton suspected something. What was he doing here? How much could he know? She tried to remember what she'd been told about Brigadier Barton. Older than Owensford but subordinate, could something be made of that? Bad sign he here. Shouldn't be here. Not now, not when things critical.

 Even in the Dales battle there had always been the option of pulling back; they had never been so deeply committed that the enemy could have destroyed them all, although it had been necessary to sacrifice the better part of two battalions to get the leadership cadre out. Now they had to attack, attack an immensely strong defensive position with forces that were barely superior to the Royalists even with the diversion drawing off some of their strengthNo way Skilly can win a straight fight here, she thought- She would need five times the troops and more equipment for that. But if they lost this time, the Movements edge would be blunted, perhaps forever.

The thought of losing the instrument she had worked so long and hard to forge made her stomach feel tight and sour; with an effort of will, she made her hand stop its instinctive desire to rub soothingly. . . . Armor would stop it anyway.

 Niles gave her a grin and a thumbs-up; he looked better now that combat was near and there was no time to brood. That was another anxiety, she had serious doubts whether the Englishman had thought through the implications other orders.

 He toughen up a lot, she thought. Now we see if it enough.

 -- -o- •o "Where's Fatima, Eddie?"

 The mechanic jerked at the voice and rolled his trolley out from under the truck. The sirens were still wailing across the maintenance compound parking-lot.

 "Ah, she's sick," he said, looking up and wiping his hands on an oily rag. "I came down to see the vehicle park was ready."

 Christ, I hope I didn't hit her too hard, he thought.

She was a good boss, and no more a Citizen than he was. Had been the one to get him the assistant maintenance chiefs job, too. But you didn't retire from the Movement, and when it gave you the word you obeyed. Or died, and your family with you, wherever you tried to hide.

 Christ, how did I ever get into this? Shit. shit, shit I don't want to kiU anybody. Not even the Cits, hell the ones here haven't been so bad - the man in militia uniform looked around; fifteen xs, another ten xs. Stora Mine was lavishly equipped with mechanical transport by Spartan standards, since you couldn't haul ore by horse-drawn wagon; even with the mobile Brotherhood force gone, there were still scores of trucks and vans in the settlement, a fair number of private cars as well- The emergency plan called for his two ready companies to billet here, able to reinforce anywhere in the sprawling complex.

 'They OK?" the Citizen-soldier said, jerking his head toward the transports.

 "Sure, sir. Ticking over normal, but I just wanted to check. You know what's happening?"

 "Goddam rebels've attacked a ranch, the boss took some people out to put them down," the militiaman said.

 More militia were coming up, and at a wave from the commander began loading propositioned packs of weapons and equipment on the trucks.

 "Nothing wrong here?" the mechanic asked; a man with a wife and a new baby had a right to sound worried.

 Why did I listen to that bastard Sverdropov? First it had been hide things, turning a blind eye to a crate on a run down to the lake, passing messages, just more union work Sverdropov said, and he'd been soreheaded back then after the last outfit he was with broke a strike with scabs. The Movement had gotten him his first job here ... Then bigger things, and when he baulked they threatened to turn him in, then it was hanging offenses and he had to keep going.

 "Nah, just playing safe," the militiaman said; he looked worried, but not very. "You'd better get to your shelter station, but thanks for checking. Eddie. Give my regards to Mary."

 "No problem, sir," the mechanic said, zipping the equipment bag and walking toward the office with a friendly wave to the nearest troops. Sweat trickled down his ribs from his armpits despite the cold, as the left-over bombs clinked in the duffle's- •"•"

 Legion Corporal (Headquarters Adjutant Staff) Perry Blackbird was in his last enlistment before retirement. He'd been too old to go with the Legion to New Washington. In fact he was plenty old enough to rate a desk job at headquarters, but Andy Bielslds had asked him to come along on this job. "Got a feeling on this one, Perry. Can use your nose," Bielskis had said.

 And Andy had the best nose in the Legion. Perry had watched Andy grow up in the Legion. He and Andy's father had been sergeants together. Of course that was back in Blackbird's drinking days, when he  jerry PoumeUe - S.M. Stirling went up to sergeant and back down to PFC with seasonal regularity. Nowwith his seniority he was paid as much as a sergeant, and he didn't have any command responsibilities, which was the way he liked it. What with Jeanine married to a farmer and Clara dead these five years, he lived alone and he'd been getting crustier and more set in his ways. "Do me good to get out," he'd told Andy. "Hell, somebody's got to watch out for you."

 And there was something wrong here. Perry Blackbird wasn't sure what, but things didn't feel right Maybe it's I know Major Barton is worried sick, and Andy ain't too happy. His instructions were to nose around, see how these militia carried out procedure, watch for anything suspicious, see what he could improve.

 Now he watched as the mechanic went into the office. Then he turned to the militia sergeant. "Is that standard, a civilian mechanic workin' your motor pool?"

 "Well, sure, this is a mine, not everyone is militia.

Eddie's a sorehead sometimes, but he's all right." The Citizen sergeant's voice had an edge to it. Plainly he didn't think they needed any outsiders to tell them how to operate.

 "Standard procedure during an alert is nobody's alone with a truck he ain't going to ride in," Blackbird said, "Don't you do that here?"

 "Well, sure, but who the hell follows procedure all the time? Never get anything done that way."

 "You like this Eddie?"

 "He's all right."

 "Trust him, do you? With the lives of your troops?"

 "Sure - what are you getting at?"

 "Why isn't he militia?"

 "I don't know, never asked. What the hell do you think you're getting at?"

 "Nothing, Sarge, nothing at all. But I sure am gladit ain't me getting into one of them trucks. Have fun, Sarge." He touched his comm card. "Andy, I'm going into the maintenance office, I may needhelp. Send me a couple MPs, and maybe you better come a-running."

 He left the militiaman staring at his back.

<- ^ •> "Captain Mace," Barton said.

 The Scout commander looked up from the plotting board. The Legion techs had set up their own battle tech system in the computer center that doubled as militia HQ. "Sir."

 Barton typed at his own console. "HAVE THEY FOUND THE BUGS IN HERE?"

 TWO-THINK THATS ALL?"

 "NEGATIVE."

 Aloud he said, "How long would it take to string landlines of our own between the perimeter bunkers.

HQ. and the main interior points?"

 "About a day, using all the men, sir," Mace said.

 "I think we should get on that as soon as this fracas is over," Barton said.

 "Sir."

 Christ I'm no goddam actor. "FIND THOSE DAMN BUGS'!!" he typed. "Meantime, collect our spare communicators, and send one to the commander's bunkers. And the power and communications buildings."

 "Aye, aye, sir."

 Barton turned to the screens. The local militia had mobilized with smooth efficiency, fanning out to their duty posts. Second-line Brotherhood personnel were seeing the families and children to the Armory; an immensely strong position, dug into solid rock and surrounded by pillboxes. And I don't like this one damned bit.

 "Get me the relief column."

 Karl Olafson's face showed, looking up from the tail of a truck set up as a command post. From somewhere outside the field of vision came an unmistakable booooom, heavy artillery in action.

 "Report, Major."

 "Light resistance on the way here, sir. Mines, and snipers, a lot of mem with Peltast rifles" - which had considerable antivehicle capacity - "we lost the armored car, and the mine-clearing vehicle is damaged. We had to stop and deploy several times, but we've pushed through to within firing range of the trapped reaction force, and with them to observe we're shooting the rebels out of their positions."

 "Are you in ground contact?"

 "I think so, at least, my forward patrols are running into them. Infantry screens."

 "Resistance?"

 "They're giving a stiff fight and then pulling back.

Laying mines as they go." The militia officer grimaced, and the mercenary nodded. That was something of a Helot trademark. "But they don't have time to set complete nets, or equipment for air-delivered stuff."

 Odd, Barton thought. The enemy had repeatedly shown they did have some capacity in that field. Not an unlimited one, but this was a fairly important actionCertainly the largest battle in the Upper Valley so far.

One of the few where the Helots had operated in battalion strength.

 "And they're keeping their mortars on the reaction force position, mostly."

 More understandable. Causing maximum Citizen casualties seemed to be a strategic aim of the enemy high command, and the pinned-down force was a concentrated, sitting target. And I still don't like it. "All right. Major, carry on, but keep me in the loop."

 "Yes, sir. I expect to break up the enemy concentration within the next few hours, and pursue their elements as they split up and withdraw."

 Barton leaned back in the chair. That ought to be that, he thought- The screens showed orderly activity, the last of the children going down the elevators at the armory...

 His Legion console screen lit. "SERGEANT BIELSKIS REPORTS REACTION FORCE VEHICLES MAY BE SABOTAGED POSSIBLY BOMBS ABOARD IT IS CONFIRMED THAT BOMBS WERE PLACED IN MOBILE RESERVE VEHICLES "

 "Jesus Christ," Barton said.

 "Sir?" Olafson said.

 "Major, this computers showing something odd.

Fve got a terrain plot. You see that secondary road off to your left there?"

 "Yes, sir?"

 "Dismount your men and go investigate it."

 "Sir?"

 "Now, Major. Go take a look yourself."

 "General, mat will delay us-"

 "Major, indulge me. It won't take five minutes. I don't quite know what this thing is trying to tell me, and I'd rather have you go in strength. Now get moving, please. And stay on line with me."

 Olafson reacted to the tone of command. "Yes, sir.

Captain, dismount the unit, please-"

 Dear God, let them get out of those trucks and I'll buy the biggest damned Easter candle-Bloody HeU.

That perimeter monitor's repeating, I saw those rabbits move exactly the same way last time I looked. His hand reached for a button. It was , exactly.

<• -o- -> "OK, shut it down, just leave the pumps working,"

the foreman said. "We'll pop that rockface when the alert's off."

 He had half-turned when the prybar struck him behind the ear. Then he was staring at the wet stone of the tunnel floor; there was time for a moment of surprise before something hit the back of his head. The last sound he heard was crumpling bone.

 "Come on, we gotta get everything in place before !" the man who had struck him hissed. The six men in hard hats and overalls began taking bricks of plasticine from their carryalls. Two of them began shoving extra loads of dynamite down the holes bored into die glistening black stone of the stope-face.

 'Tumps, transformers and the conveyor," the man continued, looking nervously back over his shoulder at the long tunnel that lead towards the cage of the mine's shaft-elevator.

 "Won't nobody notice the body?" one of the workers asked.

 "No way, when we pop her they'll be boiling mud all through here." He glanced at his watch. "Come on, we've only got five minutes!"

 •^ ^ ^ "Here, you, what're you doing there?" the powerplant supervisor asked. "This isn't your workstation."

 The turbine room was quiet, except for the ever-present humming of the rotors, but that was more felt than heard- He was the only one of the supervisory staff here, most of the rest were in the militia...

 'Hie overalled figure at the steam inlet rose and tumedConsdously the supervisor felt only surprise; drilled reflex made him draw his sidearm as he saw the man pull a machine-pistol from his carryall Brotherhood training brought it up two-handed, crack-crack-crack and the worker was spinning away with red blotches on his clothing. Hands came around the turbine housing behind the muzzle of another submachinegun, and the supervisor dropped flat as mm bullets slapped through   the air where his chest had been, whined off metaL Jesus God, that'll blow the steam pipe! he thought, returning fire, looking at the brick of plastic explosive.

The whole floor would be flooded with superheated water from the boreholes that slanted down into the magma.

 More bullets, and feet were moving off on the floor somewhere.

 Two of them. he thought, snapping a new magazine into the pistol and scuttling backward. The pulse hammered in his ear, but there was no time to be dazedGot to report.

 There was five meters of open space between the turbine he was using as cover and the control room. The supervisor took a deep breath and leapt, rolling the last two meters. Lead flicked pits from the concrete at his back, and shattered through the windows as he sprawled through the door of the control room and slammed the metal portal behind him. Glass starred and shifted above him as he crawled to the communicator console and reached up from below; fragments cascaded over him when he reached it, as one of the attackers put another dip through the windows. He shielded his face with his gun arm and keyed the unit.

 "Mine Central, Powerhouse One, rebel attack, rebel attack!"

 "I am sorry, your call cannot be completed as sent.

Please indicate your call direction and try again."

 "God damn you!" Panic button. The Legion guys had put in a panic button. It was just over there. His legs didn't want to work, but he could still drag himself across the floor to the desk, reach up and slap the button.

 Alarms hooted. Somewhere off in the distance he heard shouts "Move, damn you!"

 "God damn it, there wasn't sposed to be any mother fucking alarms," someone shouted. "Let's get the fuck out of here!"

 "Hey you, shithead, get your ass back here-"

 "Fuck off."

 "Who's there? Sergeant, what the hell, get the Old Man! There's rebels in here. Officer of the Guard!

Powerhouse!"

 There were shots, and more people shouting, and it all faded away.

 ^ -o -o It was a thousand meters of rocky open field from the bunker's lip to the beginning of the woods. Brotherhood Lieutenant Hargroves squinted through the IR scanner and frowned in puzzlement.

 "Brother Private Diego, you sure the audio sensors don't pick up anything? I got stuff moving around out there. What's on the visuals?"

 "Nothing, sir. Birds, deer ... big herd of deer.

Sound and sight."

 "Yeah, that might be it, but I'm not counting on it.

Anything from the patrol?"

 "Regular check-in blips, sir."

 "Get me Central."

 He picked up the microphone. "Central, this is Lieutenant Hargroves. I've got some funny readings on my direct view sensors but they don't match with the stuff through you. Could you check it? And I'd like to send out another patrol."

 "Report acknowledged," a voice said. Captain Olafson, right enough, the militiaman thought.

 "Yes, ma'am, but can I send out the patrol?"

 "I'm sure you can handle it. Lieutenant?"

 He frowned, uncertain. "But the patrol, ma'am?"

 "I have full confidence in you. Lieutenant. Remember to maintain radio communications silence under all circumstances." A dick.

 BuUshit. There's something damned wrong here.

"Hell - get me the Captain."

 "No answer, sir. It's ringing through but nobody's picking it up."

 "The hetl you say!" Nobody answering in the company command bunker? "Fire up the radar! Get the damned lights on!"

 "Sir, standing orders -"

 "Do it, Diego! Everybody, stand to your guns.

Markham, get on the minefield circuit."

 "Shit! Sir, multiple metal contacts within three thousand meters. Multiple!"

 He keyed the helmet radio. "Captain, are you there?"

 "Hargroves, what the hell are you doing calling me on the hailing frequency again?"

 "Captain, I didn't - Sir, the landlink's down and I've got radar traces -"

 "Down? You reported in on it not five minutes ago!"

 The desperate voice of the communications tech broke in. "Sir, we're being targeted, designator lasers and-"

 Something blinked out of the sky at them behind a trail of fire. There was an explosion on the roof of the bunker that threw them all to the floor, loud enough to jar the senses.

 "Radar's gone, radar's gone!"

 Hargroves leapt up and to the observation slit. Men were coming out of the woods. Rocket trails slammed down out of the sky to his left and right, and more from positions among the trees. The bunker shook under repeated impacts, and he could hear screaming in the background "Open -"

 Another streak of fire. He had time to drop down and wrap his arms around his head, before there was a slamming impact and a violet light loud enough to show through his clenched eyelids. Powdered concrete made him choke and gag, while savage heat washed across the backs of his hands. Blast bounced him back and forth in the right-angle of wall and floor.

When he opened his eyes a single tear-blurred glance showed that there was nobody else alive in this chamber. He staggered erect, head and shoulders out of the gaping semicircle that something had bitten through the observation slit of the bunker, and keyed the helmet radio again.

 "Perimeter six, under rocket attack! Answer me, somebody, please, they're through the wire -"

 A high-pitched jamming squeal drove into his eardrums. Armed men were swarming out of the woods; a long blade of flame showed as a recoiless rifle fired, and the bunker shook again. None of the gatlings was firing. Bangatore torpedoes erupted beneath the coils of razor wire, and the enemy poured through as the earth was still falling back. They came running, screaming.

 Hargroves slapped the audio intake of his helmet to zero, leaving the mike open as he wiped at the blood running down from his nose. "Minefields inoperative,"

he shouted, bringing up his rifle. Aim low. Fire. One down. "Perimeter five and four not supporting." A saw-edged brrrrrt. brrrrrt. came from his left, then ceased. "Correction, five still maintaining fire. Enemy is in at least battalion strength. The mine fields are inoperative- have no reaction for-"

 ^ CHAPTER NINE If one has never personally experienced war, one cannot understand why a commander should need any brilliance and exceptional ability. Everything looks simple. Everything in war is very simple, but the simplest thing is difficult. The difficulties accumulate and end by producing a land of friction that is inconceivable. Countless minor incidents - the land you can never really foresee - combine to lower the genera) level of performance, so that one always falls far short of the intended goal.

 - Clausewitz, On Strategy <• •- -O "Field Prime, Attack Force one here. Bunker secured," Niles said.

 And I'm glad, he thought fervently. Running forward across a minefield that might be activated any moment had not been one of the more pleasant experiences of his life, with only a piece of intrusive software between him and being shredded into a dozen pieces.

 The bunker listed as six on his map was more of a tangled depression of earth and crumbled ferroconcrete now, the sappers had made sure with a cratering charge centered right on the twisted wreckage of the radar pickups. There were more thumping crashes behind him, as they laid strip charges to clear real as well as virtual paths through the mines.

 "This Field Prime. Proceed with Phase Two."

 Niles stood, waved his hand in a circle around his head and chopped it south; the jamming that bolixed the enemy's small-unit push was unfortunately affecting their own, as well. The off-world helmetcom systems could filter it, but there were only enough of those for senior commanders. Squads rose and dashed by him, heading into the open parkland that separated the perimeter bunkers from the interior villages of the Stora Mine. The men were bowed under their burdens, bundles of Friedlander target-seeker missiles, satchel charges, flamethrowers. Others were swinging right and left, lugging machine-guns and portable gatiings, setting up blocking positions to prevent the intact bunkers from sortieing and closing the quarter-arc wedge the Helots had driven into the north face of the mine's defenses.

 "Am advancing. Phase Two in progress," he said.

The headquarters company had formed about him.

"Follow me!"

 ^ ^ -fr "Broadband jamming, sir," Legion Signal Corps Corporal Hiram Klingstauffer said cooly, hands dancing across his controls. "I can filter it."

 "Right," Barton said. Breath in. Breath out. Surprise is an event that takes place in the mind of a commander. No antiradiation missiles available to him up here, though. The replacement shipments for the ones lost in the Dales were still on their way. The enemy's logistics seemed to operate much faster.. He strode over to the window and used a chair to smash out the thick double panes; cold air flooded in, and the sound of explosions and small-arms fire. Most loudly from the north, but there were flashes and crumping sounds from all around the perimeter, and that was the most accurate information he was likely to get for a while.

lights flashed and died over the mine-works south of the town as the -hour ardamps went off. Barton wheeled and looked at the computer displays.

 Power Central. A peaceful, unmarked control booth, distance shots of humming machinery and workers attending it.

 Perimeter. A light blinked on, and a militia major's voice shouted: "Long live the Revolution!"

 Karen Olafson recoiled as if it had bitten her.

 Turn it off," Barton said. She looked at him blankly.

"It's in enemy hands, nothing but disinformation.

Forget the damned thing." He went to the Legion console and threw the big switch at the top. Lights winked. "I'm taking manual control of the defenses."

Of what Jenny's crew managed to rig, anyway. Cod damn it, we needed another week. He pushed that thought aside. What he needed didn't matter any more. It was what he had that counted.

 First things .first. Puzzle out just what did which.

There was a crude map above the manual console.

Right. Infiltrators attacking the power house- Activate the minefields, detonate on contact. North side first, that's where the noise is. He threw the switch.

 The response was instant. A dozen blasts, lights flared near the power house, along the whole north periphery. More explosions. Blasts all along the inner perimeter swath. Then more, in the park areas.

 "What's happening?" Karen Olafson demanded.

 "Somebody was where he shouldn't have been," Ace said absently. "Some of those were secondary explosions.

Think you can get that thing working again?"

 "I can try. I'll dump it and reboot from WORM."

 WORM. Write Once, Read Many. Barton remembered. Computers weren't his specialty, but this was supposed to be a way to make sure nobody tampered with data because once it was burned into a glass disk it didn't get written over.

 "Security systems only. Now!" Her hands moved, with gathering speed. Blood trickled down her chin  ferry PoumeUe if S.M. Stirling from a bitten Up. The screens went blank, flickered, came back up with nothing but a red = sign in a black circle, the Helot banner. Then they flickered again and stayed blank.

 "Sir," Klingstauffer said calmly. "I'm getting radio from all the militia units. They're questioning withdrawal orders they've received, demanding confirmations. The Captain in charge of Perimeter through registers that he is withdrawing as ordered but under protest."

 "Give me a broadband over ride. In clear."

 "Sir."

 "Karen, turn that damn computer off. Never mind trying to restart it. Shut it down so it doesn't send out any more orders."

 "Right," Karen said.

 "Here's your general channel, General. No problem with the direct wires, but they're jamming hell out of radio."

 "Right. No harm trying." Ace keyed the mike. "ALL UNITS, ALL UNITS, THIS IS GENERAL BARTON " Calm, Ace, they won't hear any better if you shout. Or wiS. they - "Klingstauffer, send for some bull horns." He keyed die mike again. "All units, you are on your own, I say again, all commanders, ignore any other instructions, take command of your units. Act as you think best under the circumstances. The central computer system is compromised, I say again the central computer is compromised. Look around you, react to what you see, and Idll the sons of bitches. Relay these orders to any other units you can find"

 "Klingstauffer, get that message going on a continuous loop, general broadcast."

 t<n< - Sir.

 "And get runners going with bull homs to repeat it anywhere and anyhow they can."

 "RightBarton went to the Legion direct line console. It was difficult to tell what he had there. Direct lines, but to where- He keyed one. Nothing. A second. "This is Barton, Command Central. What do I have?"

 "Captain Trent, vehicle reserve. Cod damn. General, I'm glad to hear from you!"

 "What's your status?"

 "We're on foot, sir. Vehicles sabotaged, your man found out just in time, lost a truck and some troopers, it was real bad, real bad, but-"

 TRENT!"

 "Yes, sir."

 "Get hold of yourself. What's your status?"

 "Sir. Sir, I have two companies of dismounted infantry. Five percent casualties."

 "Right. Uke it or not. Captain Trent, you have the only effective force I can communicate with. Captain, the mine's under attack. The perimeters been penetrated at the north sector, possibly elsewhere. We have unreliable communications, and many of the militia have been given false orders by the central computer. Do you understand?"

 "No, sir."

 "Good man. I'll explain it. The central computer was briefly taken over by the enemy, Captain. God knows what it told your people to do. We have shut it down."

 "Oh-"

 "Right. So the one thing we do know is, they're inside the perimeter in the north sector, possibly stations through as well."

 "Yes, sir?"

 "So you've got to do something about it. First thing, get the word to all unit commanders. Two items. Item one, the mine fields are active again. Chase the  jerry Pourwtte irSM Stirling bastards into the mines. Item two, all unit commanders are on their own. Act as they think best. You got that?"

 Captain Trent sounded scared, but he said, "Sir.

Instruct all units, disregard previous orders, act on their own judgment. And the mine fields are active again."

 "That's it, son. Now take a deep breath, think about what you're going to do, and do it. You'll be fine."

 "Yes, sir."

 "Are any Legion people there?"

 There's a sergeant-"

 "Get moving on your instructions, then put him on.

And leave a communications squad to man this line at all times."

 "Sir." Trent left the mike activated when he put it down. Ace Barton could hear him shouting orders in the background.

 Scared as hell, but he's making sense.

 "Major Olafson, weak signal," Klingstauffer said.

 "Barton here. Olafson, the mine is under attack, the perimeters penetrated, north side for certain, possibly other areas. Your vehicles may have been sabotagedCheck for bombs. Then cancel your present mission and defend the mine. I say again, the mine's under attack, your vehicles may have been sabotaged. Your instructions are to abandon your present position and return to defend the mine Did you get all that?"

 Hissing and buzzing. "- penetrated. - under attack -"

 Nothing about checking vehicles Damn. Ace repeated his instructions.

 "Nothing," Klingstauffer said.

 "Did we get through?"

 "God knows."

 "Repeat those orders, and ^r^y" Jesus, I could go broke buying candles and altar flowers.

 PMNCE OF SPARTA  The direct line squawked. "Sergeant Bielstds, sir."

 "What happened down there, Andy?"

 "Turncoat, sabotaged Ae trucks. Blackbird smelled a rat. We've got him. Captain Trent's scared but he's steadying down."

 "What I needed to hear. Andy, about that traitor.

Keep him. I want him alive, Andy. That's really important."

 "Yes, sir. He's scared, keeps talking about how they'll kill his family, wife and little girl-"

 "Name?"

 "Edward L. Bishop. Wife is Mary Margaret Ryan Bishop. Son Patrick James Bishop, age months."

 "Can you get his family into protective custody?"

 "No, sir, they're with the other noncombatants in the main bunker."

 "Best place for them. OK, Andy, you're on your own. I got other problems."

 "Record this, sir. Bishop was recruited by one Leontin Sverdropov, a shop steward. I'd guess Sverdropov has biofeedback conditioning."

 "Cot it. Have your MFs pick him up if he can be found. Anything else, Andy?"

 "No, sir. Blackbird and I'll help get The Word out to the other units."

 "Do that. Command Central out." Barton took a deep breath. "Olafson, any progress?"

 "There's some sort of viral bit floating around in the system RAM, every time I power down it drags in a trickle current and reboots from the infected config when we come back on line, instead of from the ROM backup."

 "Right. Turn it off. Just shut it down, then go through and fix it right. For now we'll rely on manual and what the Legion installed."

 "Yes, sir."

 "Klingstauffer, can you get Mace?"

 "Standby one. Here, sir."

 "Jamey, what's your status?"

 "I've just got to my command, sir. From what I can see, they didn't expect the mine field to activate."

Mace's words were punctuated by distant explosions.

"They've got troops still out there in the mines, both rings."

 "Serve them bloody right," Barton said. "Okay, Jamey, make me the best esitmate of the situation you can and report back."

 "Roger."

 "Sir." Klingstauffer said from the plotting table.

"Incoming, multiples, bombardment rockets, heavy mortars too from the trajectories. Target zones follow."

 Unes swam over the plotting table, and red circles marked the impacts. Lot of those are empty space, he thought. Then: Of course. Air-sown mines. They're trying to wtsnobUize us. The sky howled outside, but the bop sounds of the bursting charges were not followed by the surf-roar ofbomblets or the crunching detonations of HE warheads. Instead there was a multiple fluttering whirr, as the rockets split and scattered hundreds, thousands of butterfly mines.

Over the blimp haven where the men of the Fifth were moving out, over the wrecked vehicles of the reaction force, around the perimeter garrisons, down the main streets.

 "Incoming, bombardment rockets and mortars, multiple," the sergeant said tonelessly.

 "Rather a lot, isn't it?" Barton said. He whistled softly. "Rather a lot indeed. Where'd they get it all?

Uke they're going for broke. Klingstauffer, can you get me General Owensford?"

 "Ms. Schramm's working on the antenna now, sir.

Five minutes."

  "Right" Stop. Breathe deep. Now go to the window and look out- Secondary explosions in the minefields. Someone was taking some real punishment So are our people, with aU that artillery pouring in, but the Helots have to be losing more, they're in the open.

 "Legion Headquarters, Fort Plataia sir."

 "Owensford here."

 "Barton. Uploading situation report." There was a warble of data. 'Teed complete."

 "Received." A long pause. "Jesus, Ace, what's going on up there?"

 "This one's it, sir. I'd say they've committed damned near everything they have. Not just troops, look at how much ordnance they're expending."

 "So why are you talking to me?"

 "If you'll look close at the situation report, General Owensford, you will discover that you are God damned near the only person I can talk to."

 "Oh. Lahr! Andy, get Jesus and Catherine in here on the double, then start looking into what direct communications we have with any unit in General Barton's Command. Move! OK, Ace, what you got from where you sit?"

 "One hell of a mess. Boss. I got a bad feeling on this one. No command, no control, no communications, and no bloody intelligence."

 'They any better off?"

 "Some," Ace said. He took another deep breath.

 "Actually, things can't be going so good for them, either. They penetrated the computer system here, good move, everything was tied to it. Used the computer to disable the mines and security systems. Had some inside help, too, saboteurs, God knows what else. But we turned the mine fields on with manual. I don't know how many of their troops are out there, but a lot of mines are  jerry Poumelle if S.M Stirhng going off and there's a lot of secondary explosions."

 "Ace, are you telling me you have most of the Helot army trapped inside your perimeter?"

 "Skipper, we just may, but it's not clear just who has who trapped. I doubt their command elements are in here. They don't much go in for Rommel style- More like Hitler."

 "Well. Clarifies your objective, doesn't it?"

 Barton laughed. "General, just at the frigging moment the objective is to live through all this! But yeah, I see what you mean. We got them in a killing zone. Only problem is, we don't have a lot handy to loll them with, and they seem to have plenty to do unto us."

 "You have two battalions coming."

 "Up river and up those roads. This'U be long over by then."

 "Royal Cavalry in Olynthos. Prince Lysander went up there yesterday. I could send that. The Air Cav units could be there in a couple of hours."

 "Maybe not," Ace said. "They've got bugger all equipment up here. They must have known that Air Cav was down there. This is typical Skilly- DeviousStarted with a small attack on an outpost to lure out the reaction force, an ambush for the relief column to make Stora Mine commit their mobile force, an ambush for that, then the main attack - sure as God made a mule omery, they've got something that can take out the airborne troops, and it's already in place"

 "Good thinking, Ace. Still, I will have to report to the Prince."

 "Yes, sir, but make sure he understands. Christ. He's there with the Air Cav? I didn't know that, but bugger all, it doesn't mean they didn't."

 "It doesn't mean they did, either, Ace. Thanks to Major Cheung we plugged that Palace leak."

  "They could have another. Dammit, Peter, they get me thinking they're ten feet tall-"

 "The great thing -"

 "Is not to lose my nerve. Yes, sir. Wiico."

 "Right. You're in charge, Ace. I'll see what I can organize from here."

 "Thanks. It's heating up, I better get back to it Don't let them suck the Prince into anything stupid."

 "Godspeed, Out"

 Something was happening outside. A line of massive explosions slammed their way across the open space outside the control building. One struck a parked ore-hauler, throwing the hundred-tonne machine onto its side; a moment later it pinwheeled across the gravel again, as a fuel dump went up in a soft whom? of orange flame and black smoke. The crump ... crump sounds echoed off the mountainside, were joined by others throughout the settlement as more explosive fell out of the sly Ace Barton took a deep breath. "Sergeant, feed counterbattery data to the perimeter posts and the armory." The armory at least had light artillery in revetments, and heavy mortars of its own. "Do what you can to get communications so we have a decent situation report. And anybody you can get to, tell them we win if we hold on. They haven't accomplished dick yet, and their surprise is over. Now all we have to do is live through this."

 •o- •" •"

 "We got to get out of here!" someone was screaming.

"Keep moving, keep moving," Niles barked into the speaker.

 They were supposed to be destroying the town, planting explosives everywhere, making the Citizens' homes uninhabitable- If I take time to do that, we won't get out of here at all, Niles thought. And the minefields are active again. He shuddered. A few minutes earlier and he a have been in the middle of that field when it activated. As it was he'd lost a fifth of his command to the mines. Dead or run away and there'U be more of those. Just vanished. Where do they think they can run? There was no safe place. If the Royals didn't find you, Skilly would. But Skilly won't hold this area after tonight, so aU they'R have to worry about is the Boyals.

 Groups of infantry were moving, but it wasn't a very orderly maneuver. They were supposed to fan out and make contact with the other Helot formations that would be pouring in through the breached defenses, but not all the defense system was breached, and it wasn't at all dear just what part was. Somewhere out there he should find reinforcements, but he didn't know where.

This is becoming one monumental cock-^up.

 His force was divided. He had led some across the greensward while the mines were off, but not all had made it before the field was suddenly activated. Not only had he lost men, he'd lost contact with a third of his force, who were back there in the perimeter, trapped between two mine fields. Paths would have to be cleared before they could advance or retreat, but there was no one to dear them.

 "Incoming!"

 Niles hit the dirt. There was a nightmare of explosions, some dose, some distant. He scrabbled with his radio. "Cease that artillery on north sector, I say again, cease, you're dropping into areas we hold."

 There was no acknowledgment, but eventually it stopped. Niles got up to look at the situation. Men were cursing. They knew where that barrage had come from and they didn't like it at all. "Who's fucking side are they on?" someone shouted. There were answering curses.

  Niles put that out of his mind, and tried for a calm assessment of the situation. He was near a residential community. The houses were shuttered, but they weren't all empty. Fire spat from a house half a kilometer away. Helot fighters dove for cover like reeds rippling in the wind- Some returned the enemy fire, shooting wildly, while others hugged the ground and waited- The black stone blocks of the shuttered house eroded under the return fire as if they were being sandblasted, in a shower of sparks and ricochets, but it didn't stop the Spartan sniper. Finally two Helot rocketeers came up. They snapped open the collapsable fiberglas tubes, came up to kneeling position and took careful aim; these were the light unguided bunkerbusters. W?K)oo(-crash. A house half a block from the target showed a spurt of flame. There were more rifle blasts and the Helot went down. His partner cursed and got the rocket launcher.

 Niles tried to shout to the man to move to a different location, but he wasn't listening. He got the launcher loaded, raised up, aimed. Another whoosh, and this time the windows of the house blew out in a spectacular shower of fire and shards. A burning figure staggered out the door to lie and twitch for a second. One more obstacle out of the way, but it had cost them time.

 Ask me to give you anything but time. Who said that? Doesn't matter. "Keep moving! Up, up, move, move," Niles urged. "You can't stay here!' "Sir, jammings off."

 Niles cursed silently; that meant the Royalists had communications again. Continued Helot jamming wouldhinder their own side now more than the enemy.

And I'm in a pocket, and don't know what I have in here. The timetable was shot all to shit. Niles had never believed much in that timetable. Too damned complicated, too many units to get to different places, too many things had to happen at the same time- Skilly kept insisting it was a simple plan Just a simple wedge attack, breach the defenses, seek out and destroy, but it hadn't looked simple to Niles. It was hard enough just to get one unit to move on a schedule, under fire or not, and this had dozens. Niles had tried to get von Reuter to discuss it, but the German wasn't about to criticize Skilly's plan. No one would. Afraid to sound like defeatists. So we went with this, and now- "Over to standard radio corn," he said. "Codes. Who have we got contact with?" He punched the first channel button.

 "Group Leader ben Bella here."

 "Situation?"

 "Codes CORNUCOPIA an' HEPHAESTUS." The warehouse and smelter areas. Forces advancing but objectives not secured. "We can't find the underground Movement liaison."

 "Keep looking, have to evacuate our people."

 "Sure, sure, I'll keep looking. Bloody god damn hell!"

 "Problems?"

 "Half my troops are dead in the fucldng mines! The mines were supposed to be off!"

 "Yes, I know, we took losses too," Niles said. "What else?"

 "They were supposed to be off, damn it!"

 "Get hold of yourself. Report."

 "We've got sniper fire and infiltrators from the residential districts, and somebody's spotting for that goddam artillery of theirs, it's too damned effective, they must have their computers up again!"

 Likely, actually. "Follow standing orders." Those called for blasting down any building from which hostile fire was received. He winced; a little severe... but what else could they do?

  "Standing orders -" His subordinate broke off with laughter.

 "Ben Bella? What the hell?"

 "Standing orders, sir? HALF MY FUCKING MORTARS AND ROCKET LAUNCHERS ARE OUT IN THE FUCKING MINEFIELDS! I don't know where the rest are. I don't know where the ammunition is. Sir."

 "Sir, sir," his communications sergeant said. "Group Leader Martins."

 "A moment. All right, ben Bella, link up with the Movement people and do what you can to get back on schedule-"

 He heard more laughter from ben Bella. "Schedule! That's great! Schedule." More laughter, then silence.

 Can't say I like that much. "Go ahead, Martins, Niles here."

 "Sir, Code WHITE GUARD." Heavy resistance, cannot advance. Martins was supposed to be securing the main smelter complex. Niles looked down at his map; about half a kilometerwest of the blimp haven, in a tangle of workers' bunkhouses and maintenance sheds. "I've identified Legion troops, and Brotherhood first-liners, I think they're from the reserve force."

 Damn, Niles thought. The truck-sabotage was supposed to have knocked them out of the fight entirely.

Well, everything couldn't work But had anything worked since the minefields came back on? How many survived, and how much are they worth? His head pounded, and it was hard to think. No way to know the situation. And back up there in central control, they had the computers back on, they knew where everything was. Barton - Barton, what the hell was Barton doing out here anyway. Barton wasn't supposed to be here.

this was supposed to be provincials, amateurs, and now .

 we're fighting Barton and the Le^on and those damned SAS units will be out there waiting/or us. He shook off the feeling of hysteria. "Martins, can you get through?

Answer in dear."

 "No, sir. Everytime we punch a hole, they fire the buildings and fall back, or pinch us off behind the neck of the penetration. I don't have enough edge in numbers, and these are good troops. Too many civilians running around getting in the way, too."

 Another amateur, has to explain everything. But I'm not much more than an amateur myself, and these Legion types, this is their business, they do this all their lives. "Code STALINGRAD." Dig in and hold.

 "Bullshit."

 "What?"

 "I'll do what I can, but everything's fucked up,"

Martins said. "You better figure something fast, or it's going to be bugout boogie and there won't be fuck all I can do about it Sir,"

 "Field Prime," the communications sergeant said.

 This ought to be secure. Ought to be. "Marlborough here." Stupid code name.

 "Report."

 He worked to keep his voice calm, and not to give irrelevant complaints. Uke ammunition in one place, and guns in another, troops separated from their commanders- "Heavy losses averaging thirty percent due to unexpected activation of the mine field. Ben Bella's still advancing but hasn't secured objectives.

Martins is pinned down, unable to advance at all. Part of my troops are with me at Sugar Mike Two, but the rest are still out at the bunkers with the minefield between us, and I don't have a good estimate of what's with me and what's behind. Troops are complaining that the mines weren't supposed to detonate, and some of them are unhappy about taking friendly fire."

 "Field Prime know that. Our friends don't have any explanations, they still looking. You ought to be finishing Phase Three, mon!"

 "Field Prime, that timetable cannot be kept. It doesn't even make sense any more. The surprise is over, they're organizing, their computers are up, their artillery counterfire programs are starting up, and our whole force is exposed!"

 There was a pause, "You sayin' you want to run now?"

 "Field Prime, I am suggesting that it is impossible to complete the mission."

 "Field Prime will consider that, but not time to give up. Perimeter Ten to Fourteen pulled out when we jimmied the comm, and we overran they bunkers, now we using them." The outer defense positions had all-round fields of fire. "Swing.a couple of companies up they ass, see if we can nutcracker them. We rendevous at Objective A-, eh?"

 "I will comply, but my advice is to get out before we take more losses. We've hurt them, and so far we still have an effective force, but -"

 "Field Prime will consider recommendation. Now do nutcracker."

 "Roger wilco."

 Niles looked up. "Sutchuldl, you will take A and C companies and swing east against those garrison johnnies," he said. What's left of them. Between them there's not a full strength company, and I have no idea of what they're facing. "Da Silva, you're in charge here. Remainder of the reserve, follow me."

 He lead the way, at a steady wolf-trot rather than a sprint; they had better than a Idick and a half to go.

The troops followed by platoon columns, spaced out along the verges of the road on alternate sides. The composition soles of their boots rutched steadily on the hght snow-covering of the roads and sidewalks.

Noise was increasing from either side, small arms fire and explosions. Mortar shells went overhead, making everyone hunch their shoulders involuntarily. They landed to the east, fire support against Royalist militia probing at the Helots- Return fire went sfwompwhirrrr overhead in the opposite direction. The garrison was getting its heavy weapons into use.

 They ran through a section of park, where pine-trees were blazing like torches, with an overwhelming stink of tar.

 "Mines!" someone screamed. A butterfly mine popped up, and half a squad flopped. A leg lay improbably in the center of the path they'd been running on.

 "Keep moving," Niles ordered. "Come on, we're going home!"

 The men moved ahead, but cautiously now. Niles tried to hurry them.

 'Tuck off," someone shouted- "You want to run through mines, you come up here in front and do it."

There were shouts of agreement. "Damn right" 'This de revolution! Officers to the front!"

 "Incoming!"

 A box pattern of high explosive fell around them, and several mines detonated. One man screamed, but no one else seemed to be hit. "They clearing the mine field for us!" someone shouted. Others laughed and the units began to move forward again. Another round of artillery, mis time behind them.

 There's luck, Niles thought- "Move out, move out."

He wondered how many were following him. Not as many as started- There were gaps in the ranks. Damn fools, don't they understand, they can't stay here. He ran on.

 Finally they were through the park and into a business district. Artillery flashed in the distance, but nothing was falling on them at the moment. Buildings were burning on either side; larger ones now as they came closer to the center of the dispersed settlement, flames licking up from the windows to soot-stain the white stucco. Heat drove out the days chill, turned the uniforms under the armor sodden-wet; the smoke was thick and choking, billowing just over head-high.

Bodies lay crumpled; he saw one half-out of the driver's door of a scorched van, pistol still in its hand- A woman dangled from a shattered shop-window, lying on her back with spears of glass through her chest, long blond hair falling a full meter to the sidewalk to rest in a pool of blood, A bullet went overhead with a nasty krak. More, and a man dropped.

 'Take cover!" the platoon commanders were shouting. Two men sprinted out to retrieve the wounded man. "Crew weapons, set up weapons," Niles shouted.

 A machine gun crew got into action, then another crew opened up with suppressing fire against the sniper. A noncom ran from one clump of troopers to the next, assigning target sectors. Good man. I need to get his name.

 Niles put himselfbehind a bullet-riddled electrocar; the Company Leader in charge of the area came sprinting across the open street with his radiotech and a squad at his heels. They dashed into the cover of the car body and crouched beside the Englishman, panting.

 Nobody spared a glance for the two dead militia fighters sprawled beneath the body of the car; a man in his fifties, and a boy who probably had never shaved, both in bits and pieces of uniform and armor.

The bullets that killed them had probably been a mercy, after the burning fuel drained out and down.

 "Situation?" Niles said.

 jerry Poumelle is S M Stirling "Hell of a fight for this district, sir," the Helot officer replied; Steve Derex, Miles remembered. He was a tall lanky man, heavy-featured, with the fashionable guerrilla braid down his back and a nasal Welfare accent; one arm had a stained bandage around it. "We rushed them out, but they kept comin' back through the sewers and snipin', thicker'n crabs inna hoors cunt.

Got the cure for thet, right enough."

 As if on cue, there was a massive thump under their feet, a sound that shuddered up through the soles of their boots into the breastbone rather than to the ears.

Manhole covers all along the broad concrete roadway sprang into the air with a belch of sooty fire.

 "Took a fuelin' station and jist ran the hoses down, the guerrilla said with vindictive satisfaction. "Wit"

 sir, youz troops, maybe we kin clear an' hold this sector."

 Niles looked across the street. Two and four story buildings, offices mostly. Perhaps a laboratory or assay office. Nothing of any great importance, certainly nothing worth losing a whole battalion for. From beyond that came a steady booming sound, rolling and echoing oS the cliff-line of the open pit mine just to their south.

The armory, and the gun-batteries around it.

 Clear and hold for what? But that's the Plan- "Lets do it, then," he said, looking at his watch.

hours, he thought. The timetable was shot all to hell, and there wasn't anything to accomplish. What did Skilly expect to do?

 <• -fy ^ "We rendezvous at Objective A-, eh?" Skilly said, listening to the ripping canvas sound across the sky.

 "Roger wilco." Niles' voice sounded hard and flat, tightly confident.

 "TncoTTOng/"

 Stdda went flat along with everyone else in the headquarters unit- The shot fell a thousand meters   behind them, crackling echoes through the jagged hills. Then there was a flash visible even in bright noonlight, and another explosion that shuddered the ground beneath her. Secondary explosion, as piled ammunition went up.

 "Goddam, that counterbattery too good!" she said.

That was the fifth heavy mortar they had lost in the last fifteen minutes. Tliere weren't many left.

 The Legionnaires are feeding the plotting data to the Royalist gunnery computers," consultant Tetsuko said, not glancing up from his consol. "Falkenberg's troops use Xanadu milspec multiband radars, difficult to jam, and their passive sensors are also very good.

And the artillery is dug-in and has armored overhead protection. Not very vulnerable even to precisionguided munitions."

 "Field Prime don't need explanations, Field Prime need results," Skilly said.

 Crump. Crump. That heavy-mortar battery was down to two tubes, but they were maintaining fire.

Skilly felt a stab of warmth; they might have been gutter-scum once, but she had shaped something different, as proud and deadly as a King Cobra.

 "Report from Olynthos?"

 "The Royalist airborne is not scrambling."

 Sheee-it. The little Fang missiles were in perfect position, and the Royals couldn't know about them.

The air cavalry was a serious problem in her Upper and Middle Valley operations already, and the Spartans were training more. Half the purpose of this raid had been to lure the helicopters out where they could be killed- "Maybe we outsmart us, cut communications too good so they don't know we here yet," she said. "We hurt them enough here, they come." And maybe the Prince, too, there was a report that he'd been seen in Olynthos. If he there, he will come run jerry Poumelle - S.M. Stirling ning, not like him to send his troops out and not go. We get him and this war is half over. If we stay here, punish the Cits, maybe they send that air cav, maybe they send the Prince, we win it all. Getting rid of the airborne would be worth taking heavy losses, getting the Prince worth even more. We could still win, win big.

 But suppose he didn't come? If the air cav didn't come? Then she grinned. They wiU come next time. Next tvme they send everything they have. even the old king.

"OK, the Mjollnir ready?"

 "As instructed. Field Prime. We have it set up on the bunker line in the center of our penetration through the enemy defenses.

 She touched her helmet. "Von Reuter?"

"Fallback complete and standing by," he said stolidly.

Von Reuter was a comfort; the man didn't give a damn for the Movement, but cared a great deal about doing his professional best. When it came to making a pursuit as costly as possible, he had a certain sadistic imaginativeness as well; anyone who came after them - assuming we gets away at ail - would get a very bloody nose, while the Helot forces broke up into dozens of small parties and made their way to propositioned hiding-places and supply caches. And when it was over, the Kupros Mountains would be a second place the Royal forces would be extremely cautious about entering, would have to guard continuously. It was still a good plan.

"Right," she said. "Let's go."

 This time they would ride in- style; the first people back out had dropped off transport. Someone had even taken time and a spray-paint can to sketch a red = on me sides of each. Skilly led the slide down me hill to the vans and trucks. As they boarded and drove bumping and crashing down the rock-strewn streambed they passed other captured vehicles heading north into the wadi-and-gully country. They were loaded with sedated   wounded, or with boxes and crates of refined silver and platinum and thorium, from the looted warehouses, or medical supplies, food, clothing. . . . Money to slip off-planet through Bronson's outlets to pay for weapons, to pay troops and bribe and buy and intimidate here on Sparta. Supplies to help sustain the expanding Helot forces. They would drive the vehicles to destruction, then transfer the loot to muleback and scatter it.

 " 'Make War support War,' " Skilly quoted to herself, as they drove onto the ringroad of the base. That chink Sun Tzu knew he business. The background chatter hummed in her helmetphones, and the sound of combat was a continous diffuse stutter all around, louder than the roar of engines. Behind a fragment of wall the Meijians had erected the Mjollnir, a squat two-stage rocket shaped like a huge artillery shell twice the height of a man.

 "Faster," she said.

 There must be at least a thousand, maybe as many as two or four thousand armed Citizens within the perimeter, besides the formed units in the bunkers and the Legion soliders. Speed and the air-sown mines and disrupted communications had kept them from concentrating, but that would not last long. The trucks and vans careered down the streets, veering between wrecked and burning vehicles. The lead car went over a body with a sodden thump; a howling dog dashed by, its coat ablaze. Not only houses and cars were on ftre, the wooded tongues of ridgeland between the built-up areas had caught as well, and smoke was drifting in billowing clouds.

 Helot soldiers with MP brassards and light-wands were directing traffic, most of it people on foot moving at a run. More vans and trucks with wounded and loot passed them; parties of Movement undergro unders clung to their sides or ran back toward the perimeter, Niles looked at her, then away.

Getting hot, here, not quite like what Skilly expected. She had hoped for better results, hoped the Brotherhood gunners weren't quite that good. If they could have knocked out the bunkers and gun emplacements, a Helot force squatting on the armory roof would have eleven hundred civilians under its boots. The Royalists talked a good line about not bargaining for hostages, and held to it fairly strongly when it came to their own men .. - but it was another thing to say "go ahead" when someone had a gun in your child's ear.

 She was aware that Niles was saying something.

 "... and a lot of our people are still in there inside the perimeter."

 "Pull them out."

 "As I just told you, the Royals have managed to activate a number of their mine fields, and their artillery is highly accurate. We can't pull out. Much of our force is pinned down." Niles waved behind them, at the trucks going by "I hope that loot is good, because we paid a heavy price for it."

 She was still studying the gun emplacements. She seemed distracted. Then she touched a button on the side other helmet. "Anything from Olynthos?"

 "Two choppers rode out, down river."

 Down river. Away from the action, and away from her missile emplacements. Where could they be going?

"Nothing else? Nothing? All right. We'll make them come here. Now we use the Mjollnir."

 Niles frowned. "Well, that will take out one of the gun emplacements-"

 "Do the big central bunker pretty good, though."

 "No military targets in the central bunker. Just noncombatants."

 "You thinking like a rabbiblanco again, Jeffi." He  frowned, a little insulted. I've gotten beyond the naive stage, I think, he told himself. "What do you mean?" he said stiffly "Noncombatants. Am no such, just enemies with gun and enemies without gun. Get that Mjollnir ready."

 "Sk - Field Prime, they've got close to four hundred women and - well, nearly a thousand children in there, and -"

 "Get me the fort, Jeffi. They get just one chance, like everybody."

 "You can't -"

 She was standing between him and the others in the room, whose eyes were on the windows or the corridor in any case. Geoffrey Niles froze as the muzzle of her Walther jabbed like a blunt steel finger into his left side, exactly where the armor latched under his armpit. Her face leaned closer to his, and she flipped up the shield; there was tension in the green-flecked brown eyes, and her voice was pitched soft.

 So that nobody else tvill see or hear, he knew with a distant comer of his mind. For my sake, if it comes out right. If he passed what he suddenly realized was a carefully contrived test.

 "Jeffl, Skilly want you with her when we win. But Skilly going to win, Jetfi my sweet." A slight smile, tender. "Welcome to Skilly's world, my mon, where she live all her life. This the real world, and it like this every day."The high-cheeked brown face went utterly cold. "I doan give me order twice, mon."

 He was already one over the limit.

<-•"•"

 "Jesus Christ, what's going on back there!" Karl Olafson barked. "We've been out of corn link for better than half an hour!"

 "Major," Barton began, "ptease listen closely." He waited for a second, until the man in the screen nodded.

 The enemy partially penetrated our security systems, used them to disorganize the defenses, and launched a major attack on Stora Mine in conjunction with internal sabotage. They've overrun substantial areas of the settlement. They have taken heavy losses, and we've stopped them, but they're still out there."

 Emotion rippled across the square blond-bearded face, fear, rage, astonishment. Then nothing but business; Barton nodded in chill approval. There was no time for anything else.

 "We've reheved the Torreys, but they've abandoned the attacks. And thanks to your warnings we found the bombs in our trucks."

 "Glad you got that message," Barton said. "Wasn't sure you had."

 "Just heard part of it, something about sabotage, decided to look into the trucks. Thank Cod. All right.

We're klicks from you. I can be back there in two hours, three at most."

 "No you can't," Barton said. "The road's mined, and I'm sure there are ambushes set up all along it."

 There was a long pause. "Our families are back there, in the armory bunker."

 " know. It won't do them a bit of good for you to get lolled, though."

 "All right, what do you want?"

"They're beginning to realize they can't hold here,"

Barton said. "They'll start to retreat - and they don't have all that much choice about the route they'll take if they want to get away with the loot they've been scooping up. They have trucldoads of stuff they've stolen."

 "Christ. From where? Our homes?"

"Probably," Barton said "Keep hold of yourself. The best thing that can happen right now is for them to load up with loot they won't want to give up. Loot will slow them down as much as all the mines they've been scattering. I don't know this area all that well, but from the map it sure looks like you can cut across the ridge line and show them that two can play this ambush game."

 "Christ Almighty! Harry, give me that map. Who knows this area? Yeah, get him - General, I think you have something. Davis? What's this ridge like? How long would it take to get over to here-"

 Another voice. "No road, but there's good trails.

Let's see, maybe fifteen Hicks. Four hours? Three for those in real good shape."

 They may be past by then, but maybe nut," Barton said. "I don't think they quite appreciate how hard a retreat under fire can be. Get over there and see what you can do," Barton said- "Be careful, you're not trying to stop them, just punish them as they go out, and mat's aU you do. Don't try pursuit. Don't try anything fancy.

Just get where you can see them, dig in and hurt them, no need to dose with them."

 "Roger. OK, we're on the way."

<•<•-"

 "It's the Royalist commander," Geoffrey Niles said hoarsely.

 Sidlly touched her helmet. This Field Prime, Spartan People's liberation Army."

 "Major Bitterman here." A woman's voice. The central armory would be held by administrative troops.

"What do you want?"

 "You getting one chance to surrender, or we crack you like the egg," Skilly said flatly.

 "You haven't been doing much cracking as yet, rebel."

There was confidence in her voice; die armory bunker would withstand most things, short of a nuclear weapon.

 "So far. Field Prime be nice. Major, de lads and all in there you responsibility. You put them in military zone. Better you left them out, nobody out here get hurt who not fighting. Last chance."

 "I've seen what you did to our homes," Bitterman said. "And this is not a military zone. There is no military force here. This is a hospital and bomb shelter."

 "Well, too bad," Skilly said." 'Cause it military to me."

 "What do you want?"

 "You surrender."

 "You know what you ask is impossible. I don't have the authority. I tell you this is a hospital and shelter.

There are no military units here."

 "They all around you out there."

 "Well, yes-" "General Barton here. Who is this?"

 "Calls herself Field Prime, General," Major Bitterman said.

 "Field Prime, this is General Barton."

 "Good. Surrender, and I don't smash in that Armory."

 The Armory is a hospital and shelter for noncombatants," Barton said.

 "I don't believe you, but I don' care much either.

You surrender or we crack it open."

 "General, she's bluffing," Bitterman said. "This place would withstand anything up to nukes."

 "Field Prime don't bluff, as you going to find out. I give you your chance. You don't get another."

 "Suppose the hospital did surrender?" Barton demanded. "What does that do for you?"

 "Oh, fuck off," Skilly said. She cut the connection.

"Hey, Jeffi, that bunker be one big military target.

Skilly not to blame if the Cits put people over the ammo and power supply, hey?"

 He nodded. "Yes... I suppose that's true," he said His shoulders straightened. It is A damned sight more of a military target than Dresden was, after all. Not that it mattered, the Boyalists already had evidence enough to hang them all six times over for violations of the Laws of War. Unless we win. Winners write the laws.

 She touched her helmet again. Tetsuko. Do it"

^ ^ •> Barton looked down at the plotting table. The Helot attack reached through the perimeter of Stora Mine like a knobbly treetrunk, with branches reaching out to touch objectives, twisting around obstacles or strongpoints. He was starting to get an accurate picture; also starting to put serious pressure on the attackers. Daring. Bold. But they depended on their electronic edge too much. If we'd been here another week- If we'd been here another week they would have found out and called off the attack. Attack? Or raid?

Did they have an objective other than loot and generally smashing things up?

 Information was flowing in now. Disorganized as they'd been, the Brotherhood had put up a good defense, which was what Barton had intendedDefense in place was a lot simpler and easier than a coordinated attack, and these Brotherhood troops all knew each other, had worked with each other, knew what to expect. The enemy had pummeled them in a few places, but by and large the Brotherhood forces had held, and that was all they needed to do.

 There was one coherent enemy force around what had been defensive post , and many pockets of disorganized Helots, some in minefields, others in old bunkers, but all cut off from the enemy's main body.

Put screening units out to keep those groups disorganized and make sure they didn't rally, because some were in a position to do some real damage if they broke free, but otherwise leave them alone for the moment. They'd surrender soon enough when they saw they were abandoned.

 That left the rest of the Helots, an organized force of fewer troops than he had in total, but larger by far than any integrated force he could put together. The Helot main body was dug in and holding, but rear elements were already withdrawing, and they were sending back a stream of heavily laden vehicles. Concentrate artillery fire on that group, especially on their escape routes. Every possible shelter, and every crossroads, had long ago been added to the target data base, so it was a matter of picking targets for indirect fire and feeding in their coordinates. Drop rounds onto the roads, knock out vehicles that would have to be cleared away before anything else could get past.

Make the enemy think he was being cut off. It took steady veterans to go on advancing when they were afraid their line of retreat was cut.

 Bight The artillery fire plan could be left to the local militia officers. They could read maps as well as he could, and they'd seen the terrain.

 And that would be wearing the enemy down something fierce. Which is about all J can do just now.

 Aggressive patrols to make the enemy bunch up.

and aggressive artillery to pound them when they did bunch up, and meanwhile gather enough troops to mount a real counter attack. Time's on our side now....

 "Sir," the technician said. "Launch, from one of the perimeter bunker locations under enemy control."

The sergeant was frowning as he tracked. 'Very odd trajectory, sir. Straight up, almost. Several - better than five clicks."

 Some sort of suborbital? he thought. Then: Oh, Christ. The whole purpose of the attack was suddenly   plain. Not just to shatter the mine, to demoralize the Citizens of Stora Mine and the northlands around it.

Some wounds anger, but there are others that break the spirt. That's what the enemy intended. Had intended aS along. His hand stabbed out toward the communicator, then froze. There was nothing he could do, nothing at all "Sir, it's a two-stage. Computer says antifortress penetrator, heavy job. Apogee. Coming down under thrust. Coming dawn fast. Jesus, Mach ! Jesus, it's -"

 The ground shook beneath their feet.

•" ^ -o "Prepare to pull out," Skilly said, raising herself to her knees and wiping blood from the corner of her mouth. The explosion had been more like an earthquake, mis dose.

 Tlie bunkers around the underground fortress were intact, but there was a gaping hole near the entrance to the main bunker. Smoke rose from it. It looked bad, looked terrible.

 Baffles and multiple armored doors had protected the weapons posts. The steady fire continued, then the Spartan defenders realized what had happened behind them, and then every remaining weapon opened up, firing continuously with no thought of maintaining concealment. Wire-guided missiles lashed out in return from the Helot positions, beamriders. The savage exchange of fire continued for a minute, then died away. The Helot troops couldn't take the losses and dove for cover. Someone screamed near by.

 "Fuck this shit, fuck it, fuck this motherfucking shit!"

 "Steady," Skilly shouted. "General comm. Phase -"

 RAK Yip had raised himself to reel in the surveillance camera; the sniper bullet punched  through his shoulder, upper lungs and out the other side without slowing much. Everyone dove as it whined around the room, pinging off concrete with that ugly sound that told experienced ears the thumb-sized lump of flattened metal might hit anyone from any direction. The guerrilla NCOs heels drummed briefly on the floor, as blood flooded out from nose and mouth and the massive exit wound under his left armpit.

 "- Phase Five, say again, Phase Five," Skilly repeated.

 Almost on the heels of her words the first of the huge demolition charges the guerrillas had cobbled together from captured blasting explosive went off, with a jarring thump that was loud even a kilometer away. The remaining militia could be expected to press their pursuit with reckless courage, and the Helots intended to make them pay for it. With explosive and steel rather than close-quarter fighting, where possible; with ambushes where it was not.

 "Now. Jeffi. Now we run, and they come after us, and we kill them."

 ^ CHAPTER TEN No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.

 - Helrnuth von Moltke •"•"<• "All day for nine hours we ran. It was the contagion of bewilderment and fear and ignorance. Rumour spread at every halt, no man had his orders. Everyone had some theory and no plan beyond the frantic desire to reach his unit. In ourselves we did not know what to do. Had there been someone in authority to say, 'Stand here, do this and that' - then half our fear would have vanished. So I began to realize, sitting in my swaying car, how important the thousand dreary things in an army are. The drill, the saluting, the uniform, the very badges on your arm all tend to identify you with a solid machine and build up a feeling of security and order. In the moment of danger the soldier turns to his mechanical habits and draws strength from them." Alan Moorehead, on the retreat from Gazala, June, - Quoted in John Keegan and Richard Holmes, Soldiers <• ^ ^ Cro/ton's Encyclopedia of the Inhabited Planets (nd Edition): Olynthos: town at the head of navigation on the Eurotas Itiver (q.v.), Sparta, (q.v.). Established as Fort Tanner during CoDominium administration, . Communication with Lake Alexander and its mining settlements by rail and slurry-pipeline (), followed by rapid growth; river-port, fitting out point for outback expeditions, and industrial center. Power supplied by hydro developments on Vulcan Rapids (potential in excess of MW-). Smelters, refineries, direct-reduction steel mill, mining machinery, building supplies, explosives, general manufacturing. Pop. () , not including part-time residents.

 Description: The town lies on the southwestern bank of the river immediately below the Ninth Cataract of the Vulcan  jerry Poumelle - S M. Surfing Rapids, in an area known as Hecate's Pool. Most buildings are constructed of limestone blocks from nearby quarries; notable features include...

 •>•"•"

 Melissa was down, hurt and bleeding, and shells were falling all around them, but Lysander couldn't get to her. His legs were paralyzed, and when he tried to crawl filthy hands came out of the ground, reached up with slimy fingers to drag him down. Mehssa moaned softly, and Lysander shouted to her, shouted that he was coming, but he couldn't move, and - "Prince."

 "I'm coming! I swear it-"

 "Prince."

 Lysander sat bolt upright on the cot. "Harv. I'm awake. God, what a horrible dream- Melissa, she was -What is it, Harv?"

 "Urgent signals. Prince You're needed in the orderly room. Helots attacking the Stora Mine complex."

 "Right, I'll be there in five minutes." He suddenly realized where he was. "My compliments to the colonel, and can he alert the regiment."

 "Already being done." Harv said. "Choppers winding up and they're rolling the armor out."

 "Right. Thanks."

 Colonel Bennington and his senior officers were in the staff room clustered around a map table. "Attention, please," Captain Larry Sugar-man, the adjutant, said. They fell silent as Lysander came into the room.

 "Carry on, please. Jamie, what's happening?"

"Sir, its an all-out assault on the Stora Mine complex," Bennington said. 'We don't have direct communications, we're getting everything on relay through the Legion Headquarters in Sparta City.

General Owensford is on line and would like to speak withyou when you have a moment."

 Lysander leaned over to study the displays on the map table. There's a hell of a lot more 'maybe' and 'probable' and "could be' and plain rumor than real information here."

 "Yes, sir, the Helots seem to have disabled the main computer at Stora. Disabled or worse; there are indications they got control of it."

 The circles, solid, shaded, and dotted, blinked as the table was updated. Some of the dotted circles vanished, others moved to shaded. A few shaded turned solid as sightings and identifications were confirmed, but there was still more rumor than fact reported on that map table. "Better let me speak to General Owensford,"

Lysander said. "I'm not learning much here. I presume you're getting the regiment ready to respond."

 "Yes, sir. Sergeant, see if you can get General Owensford, please."

 "On line and holding, sir," the sergeant said. He handed a headset to Lysander.

 "lysander here."

 "Owensford, Highness. Urgent request. Do not send out any air cav reaction force. I'll explain, but that's an urgent advice, sir."

 Lysander stared at the map- New data flowed in.

The impersonal circles moved or changed sizes, with bright flashes indicating battles. Friendly units shrank as he watched. Confirmed casualties. "Our people are taking a licking," Lysander said. "And they need help.

I suppose you have reasons."

 "Sir. This is an all out assault, regimental to brigade strength, carried out with full intelligence. They have to know where your units are. Possibly even that you're commanding them. Therefore -"

 "I see," Lysander said. 'Therefore they've already factored in the First Royals and think they can deal with us."

 "Exactly, sir."

 "Isn't that called taldng counsel from our fears, General? Paralyzing ourselves because of what might happen?"

 "Yes, sir, but in this case it may be wise. We don't know nearly enough. What we do know is they were willing to commit in strength to this operation knowing your force was there and ready. The plan was complex: initial attack to draw out the reaction force, ambush that, sabotage the mobile reserve, infiltrate saboteurs-"

 "Jesus, and all that worked?" Lysander demanded.

 "More than ought to have."

 "Skilly," Lysander said.

 "Yes, sir, I believe so. I have only intermittent contact with General Barton at the mine, but it's my impression he believes so, too."

 "Devious," Lysander said. "So it could be a bluff to keep us from sending reinforcements."

 "Sir, she's devious all right, but I can't think the Helots would risk this much on the hope that you'd think it through and not send a reaction force."

 "Point taken." Lysander grinned wryly. "And she probably thinks this was a simple plan, not much to go wrong. Advice?"

 "Keep your options open. You're our reserve, don't commit yet. You're closer than I am," Owensford said.

"And you won't be cut off from direct contact with Barton at the mine forever. You can decide what to do when you have a better idea of what the situation is."

 Lysander considered the map again. "Barton's in command at the mine?"

 "Yes, sir. Local commander asked him to take over."

 "All right. We'll be his reserve until the situation develops. You'll keep me up to date, and get me contact with Barton when that's possible."

 "Anything we know, you'll know," Owensford said.

 Lysander studied the map table. I'd give a lot for satellite observations Have do something about that, there must be a way to convince the CD. And what the heU am I doing, acting like I'm in charge? But it's my job.

and no one else is going to do it, whether I get it right or not. And right now- He turned to Bennington. "Jamie, get your two best pilots. Load up two ships with scouts.

Have them duck out this way, down river, then swing wide and angle back. one out to each side of the valley.

Straight recon mission, with the option of committing the scouts if that looks worth doing. If they've gone to this much trouble to set up an ambush of the air cav, I can't think they'll give it away attacking one ship, but the pilots should be careful anyway."

 "Yes, sir. If the Helots can infiltrate a big unit they can have a couple of small ones, too."

 "Good point. And any scouts they do drop will need full rocket support. But you know that."

 "I'll see to it, sir."

 The First Royal scouts were not as well trained as the Legion's SAS units, but they'd been trained by the Legion, and had some combat experience. Training's over. Time to get some use out of them. For that matter it's about time for Sparta to stand up independent of Falhenberg's Legion. "Jamie. General Owensford estimated regiment to brigade strength committed at the mine."

 "Yes, sir."

 "Ilien they can't have much left to block the roads."

 -'Well -"

 "How much could they infiltrate up here?"

Lysander demanded "We've had regular air sweepsJamie, if they're good enough to have another regiment beyond what's committed already, we're going to lose anyway. Now are they that good?"

 "I see your point. No, sir."

 "Get the ground units moving upriver. Usual precautions, recon units lead, watch for mines, but get them moving. Keep the aviation units grounded until we figure out what Miz Skilly has in mind. Next thing, get your Intel and aviation people together and figure out where they're planning on engaging the air cav."

 "Engage with what?"

 "I don't know. Assume something effective."

 "Missiles," Bennington said. "Right." He fumed to his adjutant. "Larry, who've we got for this?"

 "McCulloch and Levy, sir?"

 "Good choice. And Captain Flinderman, I think.

Give them the assignment and have them report when they've thought of something."

 "Yes, sir."

 "And get the ground units moving."

 Captain Sugarman spoke quietly into his headset.

Lysander turned back to the map table After a few moments the displays changed again. Friendly unit reports became more reliable, although there was still a lot of confusion about enemy strength and locations.

lysander studied me situation carefully. The entire Stora garrison, nearly a full regiment of well equipped and trained Brotherhood troops, reinforced by Legion units, and they were reduced to ineffective and disorganized pockets. What could do that to them? Whatever it was couldn't be small, and he became more certain the enemy had committed all they had. The Helots couldn't possibly have any large strategic reserve, and not much else either. Anti-aircraft missile units, infiltrated and - Infiltrated where? "Jamie?"

 "Highness?"

 "Have your experts consider this: a small anti-aircraft missile unit in hiding somewhere alongthe route from here to the mine, probably close to this base.

 Not so close they can't get away once they launch their birds, but close enough to observe what we're doing.

Preferably with a good escape route through terrain that would halt armor."

 'Tut that way. Highness-" Bennington manipulated the map controls.

 "Right. I see it." Lysander increased the gain on the Decelea Forest, a university experimental arboretum and park north of Olynthos Base. It was easily large enough to hide a company of missileers, it overlooked the Valley road north, and the broken terrain and gullies extended down to the river.

 "Hit us, bug out to the river. Without air we couldn't stop them crossing, and that gives them a hell of a head start in getting away," Bennington said. "Its sure where I'd put an ambush for air cav."

 "Can't do any harm to send some scouts up there.

We might get lucky," Lysander said. He pointed to the map table. "It's about time some luck fell our way, because it looks like we're getting lunched up there."

 "Right." Bennington studied the map. "And I think I'll send some artillery units north along the main road, on up past the Decelea tumoff, but not too far past, say to about here, where they'll have that park in range-"

 Lysander grinned agreement.

 Bennington called his adjutant. "Larry, please ask Lieutenant Arnold to alert his men, then report here.

We have a job for him."

 Such a simple thing to do. Sending men off to crawl around in a forest until they can bring in artillery sheik onto other men. He looked at his hand, and remembered a line from a poem. Just a line. "The hand that signed the paper... these five kings did a king to death." Why do they obey me? They're older and more experienced. He remembered Owensford, during the Dales battle, and later in the rescue of the Halleck boy.

 jerry PoumeUe <fS.M Stifling At least they try to tell me when I'm making a mess of thmg/i. He turned back to the map table.

 "Royal Leader, this is Arnold. I have located our objective. We have an enemy unit under observation.

They are unaware of our presence, but I can't guarantee that for long if we attempt to close. Visual and IR observation. Data transmission follows, stand by."

 Images on the map table swam, dissolved, and reformed as update data flowed in. Lysander and Bennington eagerly bent over the display "Missiles, all right," Bennington said. "I don't recognize the type. Let's see if we have a visual." A blurred image appeared on one of the wall screens. "Still doesn't mean anything to me. You, sir?"

 Lysander shook his head. "Afraid not. Okay, let's buck this back to the Capital. Maybe the Legion has something in its data base."

 "Right." Bennington made adjustments. "Whatever they are, they're anti-air. Give 'em any capability you Hire, they were looking right down our throats here. If we'd sent the air cav out in a body to follow the highway, or even the river-"

 "Yeah. How long will it take Arnold to get into position to attack them?" Lysander asked.

 "We'll have to ask him, but I'd give him at least half an hour."

 "Please see that your artillery is in place and ready to fire at that time."

 "Yes, sir." Bennington sounded enthusiastic.

 They studied the map as they waited. The First Royals regiment was poised and ready, all they needed was assurance that they could move safely. And the right objective. If we can find the enemy we can hU them.

Deflrutely need to talk to the CD people. There has to be a way to get some satellite observations.

 "Urgent signal from General Owensford for Prince Lysander." Sergeant Rosdus said.

 "Put him on the speaker. Lysander here."

 "Sir -•" The word was choked off. Everyone in the command room looked up, puzzled.

 Owensford was quiet for a moment. Then his voice turned cold and impersonal. "Sir, the mine garrison is engaging in a spontaneous all out counterattack. It is expected that when the attack makes contact with the enemy it will be repulsed with heavy losses. The counterattack began when the garrison learned that the Helots had used an earth penetrator rocket to attack the hospital and civilian shelter area. General Barton is attempting to halt the attack and reorganize die garrison troops, but he has had limited success. The enemy is retreating. General Barton is worried about ambuscades- He is attempting to halt the pursuit until our forces are better organized.

 "Civilian casualties were heavy, amounting to sixty percent in the hospital and may be as high as fifty percent among women and children in the shelter."

 The command room fell silent. Someone made a deep growling sound "Can you get me a direct link to Stora?" Lysander asked.

 "Yes, sir, but I thought I'd better tell you this first."

 "Quite correct. General Owensford. I suppose Acre's no chance this was an accident?"

 "No, sir, they threatened to attack the central shelter unless it surrendered. The attack was an earth penetrator missile, specially designed to attack hard targets. It was launched instantly after the Helots ceased communication. There was no time for evacuation. It was deliberate, sir." Owensford s icy calm was beginning to fray.

 Cold fiay gnawed at Lysander's stomach, but he felt a preternatural calm. "All right. Get me General Barton."

"Yes, sir, I'll patch him through."

"Barton here."

"General, this is Lysander. Peter told me."

 "Yes, sir."

 "It's not your fault. You couldn't have prevented it."

"I don't see how I could have, sir. But we have five hundred dead children here, and I was in command."

 "Can you get me a general circuit? I want to speak to everyone there."

 "Klingstauffer, His Highness wants a general circuit. Shall I announce you, sir?"

"Yes, please."

 There was a pause, then, "All units. This is General Barton in command center. His Highness Prince Lysander Collins will speak to you now. Your Highness -"

 "My people. My sisters and brothers. Please listen. I share your grief, and together we will mourn Sparta's dead. That is later. For now, I have a command. I order you to live. Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, stop, take heed, think. You are what the enemy wanted you to be, enraged citizens seeking vengeance, vulnerable to their treachery.

 "And THAT IS NOT ENOUGH. You shall be avenged, but you will not be avenged through haste and madness!

Vengeance demands victory, and victory demands that we act together, as a disciplined army! Brothers and Sisters! Organize. Organize and obey your officers.

 "People of Sparta. I am coming, I am bringing the instruments of vengeance and destruction. Wait for me. And know that this will not end today, not today, and not tomorrow. It will not end until we are avenged. More than avenged. Together we shall pursue these creatures wherever they go, relentless pursuit, until we have killed them all, killed them not   only for revenge but to cleanse this land, we shall cleanse this land of all memory of these creatures.

They do not deserve to breathe the same air as free men and women, and by God Almighty I swear it, they shall not!

 "We came here to this empty land, and we made a home. We built a land of honor, and we offered to share it with anyone worthy, and this is their answer.

They cry for their rights. We will give them their due.

We will give them justice.

 "My brothers and sisters, listen. Do not throw your lives away. Halt and think. Man your assigned stations.

Find your officers. Obey them. Organize, make ready, and wait for me. I am coming, my people. Never doubt it. I am coming. God may have mercy on these wolves but we shall not."

 ^ <• <• "Legion headquarters has identified those missiles, sir. Something new, but the Legion data base has specs on them. Fucking bastards," Captain Tyson said.

 Lysander's look silenced him. "Good. Feed the performance data to the air ops commander. What I want is a good feint. Send the choppers out as if they're headed north, but turn away before they're in danger."

 Tyson straightened "Can do."

 "Lieutenant Arnold reports enemy alerted," the communications sergeant said. "They're setting up their birds, like they expect us."

 They heard the speech," Lysander said. "Or someone up north heard it and sent an alert. Doesn't matter. They expect us to come running. Arnold in position?"

 "Five minutes, sir. Artillery's targeted. Rockets in place."

 "Get those choppers going, then. Colonel Bennington, you'll take command of this operation. Hit them, neutralize them, take some live prisoners able to tell us how they got here, then let the constabulary finish them off. I want this regiment headed north as soon as possible."

 "Yes, sir. You want me to command?"

 "Yes. As soon as we've defeated the ambush, I'll take the air cav and get up to Stora."

 "This may not be the only missile force they have."

 "May not be, but it probably is. Jamie, they can't cover the whole countryside. We're scouting alternate routes, * take one of those, but by God I'm going.

They need me up there."

 "Aye," Jamie Bennington said. 'That they do, my Prince."

 <• •> < Twenty officers and as many civilian leaders were gathered in the command center of the Stora Mine.

They greeted Lysander with grim satisfaction. "We waited. Highness," someone said. "Now lead us."

 Ace Barton rose wearily to attention and saluted.

"Highness. You'll be taking command now. I'd like to go back to the Legion."

 "Denied," Lysander said. "General, you will continue in command here." He looked at the grim faces around him. "You'll need an expert," he said- 'This is General Barton's work, and he is good at it."

 "Not good enough."

 "I forbid that," Lysander said. "Until now we didn't know, couldn't know, the true nature of our enemy.

Blaming ourselves for not foreseeing this criminal act is pointless. General Barton, you will organize the pursuit. The objective is to harass and punish the enemy, of course, but that's not the main objective. It is far more important that you avoid their traps, avoid casualties. Preserve our people, so that we can win this war and rebuild."

 "Speak for yourself," someone said. An elderly captain. "We lost a daughter and two grandchildren. I don't care what happens to me as long as I take some of them with me."

 "How many others feel that way?" There were mutters, but before they could answer, Lysander shouted, "That is treason. Captain Caldon." He paused to let that sink in. "I said treason, and I meant it. Sparta needs you alive, not dead."

 He strode into the crowd, and stood among them.

"We will cleanse this planet," he said. 'To do that we must win this war. Not just loll a few hundred, a few thousand, while their leaders skulk off to do this again.

We have to defeat them completely, defeat their soldiers and hang those who ordered this. Anything less lets them get away to kill more women and children."

 There were mutters of agreement. "How, then?"

Karen Olafson asked "It won't be easy," Lysander said. "You can't do it alone. A retreat is always faster than the pursuit unless the retreating force is utterly routed, and these weren't- They were prepared to retreat. You've already run into ambushes."

 More muttered agreement. "And so did they,"

Karen Olafson said.

 "Yes. That was good work," Lysander said. "Major Olafson hammered them well, but still they were able to screen him out and slip past. This is what they're best at"

 "But - Highness, what can we do, then?" Karen demanded.

 "Harass them, yes, but carefully, avoid their traps, avoid their ambushes. Kill and capture anything they leave behind. We've already cleaned them out of the Valley behind us. Four different pockets poised to ambush us, and we have destroyed them all. You can do - From Utopia to imperiwn: A History of Sparta from Alexander I to the Accession of Lysander, by CaldweH C. Whitlock, Ph-D. (University of Sparta Press, ) ^ -- •"

Cro/ton's Encyclopedia of Contemporary History and Social Issues (rd Edition): Interdictioni The CoDominium Grand Senate has always reserved the right to declare an interdiction of space travel to or from any solar system or body therein, as punishment for actions contrary to laws which the Grand Senate regards as outside the jurisdiction of even sovereign planets. The most usual cause for such action is an attack on CoDominium citizens, particularly on Fleet personnel, or a violation of the Laws of War (q.v.). Many independent planets regard interdiction as an intolerable infringement of their sovereignty, and an attempt to reduce them to the quasi-satellite status of most Earth governments.

 It is noteworthy that interdiction has never been attempted against a planet with significant naval strength...

•V -V • But perhaps naval warfare best illustrates the effect of both permanent and contingent factors in limiting the scope, intensity, and duration of operations. Specialized warships are probably quite recent in origin. The first navies may have been antipiratical in purpose, though there are grounds for thinking that the advantages conferred by the ability to move forces along rivers or coasts first prompted rules to maintain warships. But at any stage of economic development, navies have always been expensive to build and have required handling by specialized crews. Their construction and operation therefore demanded considerable disposable wealth, probably the surplus of a ruler's revenue; and if the earliest form of fighting at sea was piratical rather than political in motive, we must remember that even the pirate needs capital to start in business.

 - John Keegan "The Parameters of Warfare"; SifHQ: The Quarterly journal of Military History, Vol :, Winter ^ •" • The house stood on large open grounds. The entry drive led past a gatehouse manned by Royal Regiment soldiers, and through a small grove of elm trees.

Beyond that was half an acre of well tended grass leading up to the Georgian style house. The porch was as large as many military houses.

 Hal Slater answered the door himself, and waved his visitors inside. "Come in, please. Colonel Karantov.

Welcome to my home. I think you met my wife some years ago?"

 "Welcome, Boris," Kathryn Slater said. She wore a simple black dress of elegant design, with a firestone pin. Her earrings flashed with a shade of green that could only have been greenfire; it was clear that Kathryn Malcolm Slater was not worried about money.

 "Mrs. Kathryn Slater, General Slater," Karantov acknowledged. "I present Captain of Fleet Clayton Newell."

 Newell, like Karantov, wore civilian clothing, and there was nothing to indicate that they were two of the highest ranking CoDominium officers in the Sparta system. Karantov kissed Kathryn s hand, and after a moment Newell did likewise.

 Hal Slater leaned on his cane to bow stiffly, and ushered them across the entry hall toward the rear of the house. "We're meeting in my study," Slater said.

"It's as secure as the Legion can make it."

 "I would say trustworthy, then," Karantov said.

Captain Newell stopped in the entry hall and looked around the room, at the parquet floors, columns and mirrors, original paintings on the walls.

Twin curved staircases led up to a musician s balcony above the entry. "Very nice," he said"Mostly Kathryn's design," Slater said.

"Impressive," Newell said. "And very lovely."

"Thank you,' Kathryn Slater said. "Hal was offered an official residence as Commandant of the War College, but we decided we'd rather build our own. We've lived so many places, and this will probably be our last."

 "You are pleased to live on Sparta, then," Boris Karantov said jerry PoumeUe ir S U Stirling "Veiy. I don't think anyone has ever appreciated us quite so much. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you to your work," Kathryn said. "You won't be disturbed.

Pleased to meet you. Captain Newell."

 Hal Slater led. the visitors into his study. Karantov and Newell went into the room and stopped short at the sight of several others already there. Karantov bowed stiffly "Your Highness. I expected to meet you, of course. But - Anatoly, Samuel, you I do not expect."

 "I'll explain," Hal Slater said. Russians never consider a meetingfriendly if it doesn't open with a drink "But first, may I get you anything? I've let the servants go for the day, but we have just about anything you would like."

 "Cognac, perhaps," Karantov saidHal opened a paneled cabinet and poured brandy from a crystal decanter into small glasses which he handed around to everyone. They all lifted them formally To Sparta," Slater said.

 Boris Karantov looked quizzically at Slater, but raised his glass and drained it. "Sparta, then." After a moment Captain Newell did the same "Excellent cognac," Karantov said. Terran?"

 "Yes, from the Crimea," Hal said. To Russians, all brandy is cognac no matter where it comes from. "Do you care for more?"

 "Not just at moment."

 "Please, be seated," Slater said, "I believe everyone has met? We will have one more visitor - ah, I believe that's him now." Hal left, and came back a few moments later with Dr. Whidock.

 "Dr. Caldwell Whidock. You'll remember him as a political consultant to Colonel John Christian Falkenberg. Dr. Whidock is now also in die employ of the Dual Monarchy. Dr. Whidock, Colonel Boris Karantov, CoDominium Fleet Marines. Fleet Captain Clayton Newell, CoDominiurn Navy. Captain Anatoly Nosov, formerly of the CoDominium Navy, reared, now a Captain of the Royal Spartan Naval Reserve. Captain Samuel Forrest, also retired as a Captain of the CoDominium Navy, now Rear Admiral, Royal Spartan Naval Reserve. And of course you know Crown Prince Lysander. Caldwell, we just toasted Sparta's health."

 "We'll say I join you in the sentiment," Whidock said. "Highness-" Whidock bowed slighdy, and fumed to the others. "Gendemen, I'm proud to meet y'all."

 "Also in the employ of Sparta," Karantov said, "May I ask. Doctor, to whom do you give primary loyalty?"

 'There's no cause to choose," Whidock said. "No conflicts."

 "None at all?" Karantov frowned. "Interesting."

 The study was large and comfortable, lined with book cases. The furniture was leadier, massive couches and chairs. Everyone found a seat. "Pleased you could all come," Hal Slater said. "I hope no one will think I am rude if we plunge right in."

 "Please do," Fleet Captain Newell said. "I confess I am intrigued to leam diat two of my former shipmates are now officers of die Royal Spartan Navy. Matter of fact, I didn't know Sparta had a navy." If you listened closely you could still hear a bit of American New Englander accent in Newells careful speech. "Doubtless all will be explained."

 "I could have introduced diem as Citizen Nosov and Citizen Sir Samuel Forrest," Slater said carefully"Citizenship was bestowed widi dieir naval commissions, and His Majesty was pleased to confer die Order of die Golden Fleece on his new Admiral."

 "Ah," Newell said. "And dlis offer - it is an offer, isn't it?"

 Lysander smiled slighdy "It is indeed. Fleet jerry PourneBe - S.M. Stirling Captain. The Kings in Council have authorized extending Citizenship to CoDominium personnel willing to serve the Dual Monarchy. And honors, as deserved, of course."

 "I see," Newell said.

 To be brief," Dr. Whitlock said, "we can offer commissions, and generous pay to our Navy Reserve, leastwise to those who join up early, being as how we dont have much Navy. Citizenship. Land. Damn good pensions, and a chance of honors, on retirement from the Spartan Navy." He looked at Karantov. "We can use experienced Fleet Marines, too."

 "You have naval personnel but not ships," Newell said carefully.

 "Well, that's right just at the moment," WhiUock said.

"But you know how things are back around Earth. That could change pretty fast You never know what happens to ships when a fleet starts coming apart."

 "Or where Sergei Lennontov orders ships to go,"

Karantov said, "I take it I am included in offer?"

 "Well, yes," Hal Slater said. "You'll need a place to retire in a few years anyway, Boris. Your family is already here. You can retire from the CD any time you liire, and take service with the Royal Spartan Navy. And if the CD stops your pension, we'll pay it. In addition to your Spartan pay, of course."

 "Is this the deal you have, Samuel?" Newell asked "Yes." Samuel Forrest was a big man, large enough that he must have had difficulty getting around in CD warships without bashing his head. They guaranteed our CoDominium pensions. Did quite a bit better than that, actually Certainly better than I expected."

 "What do you want from us, Samuel?"

 "We like it here," Forrest said. The only thing wrong with Sparta is the war. Dr. Whitlock-"

 "Well, everybody knows the war would end like that-" Dr. WhiUock snapped his fingers "- if the CoDominium fleet did its proper job of intercepting arms smuggling into Sparta. That and protecting our observation satellites. Give us our satellites and stop the enemy bringing in weapons, and we'll finish the war right enough."

 "I see," Newell said. He looked significantly to Karantov, then back to Lysander. "You do understand. Your Highness, that we are not in command here? Commodore Guilford does not want to be committed, to either side. He turns a blind eye to the smugglers- To his credit, he has not given Bronson's people direct assistance."

 "Merely stops the rest of /all from doing your jobs,"

Whitlock said. "Well, thank the Deity for small favors even so. But gentlemen, not to rush you, but where the hell did you think of running to when the CoDominium breaks up?"

 Karantov inhaled sharply. "You use strong words."

 "Situation calls fo' strong words," Whitlock said- "You got to be hearing the same things I am. So many factions in the Grand Senate nobody can get a coalition together.

Budget crisis in the United States. Political crisis in Russia. Already had one mutiny in the fleet, ship's crew didn't want to be transferred." Whitlock shrugged.

"That's what we know about. Now, here we got a good planet, stable government that wants y'all, wants y'all enough they're willing to give you some land, pay good money, and guarantee your CoDominium pension to boot - I don't need to tell you, if there ain't no CoDominium there ain't likely to be no CoDominium pensions. So you got all this you can look forward to."

 "And all you want is -"

 "All we want," Prince Lysander said softly, "is for you to do your duty. You have the reputation of men of honor, and you have done your duty to the CoDonnnium. Now - now you have a duty to civilization. Make no mistake, gentlemen. We're going to win this war, and once we have won it, we will take measures to see we are never again dependent on anyone else for our protection. We will have a Navy."

 "And /all can be part of building it," Whidock said.

"You could start in any time. And of course if you retire here, it makes sense to keep this place as healthy as possible. It's gpin' to be your home, so the sooner this war is over, the better for everybody - including you."

 "Da," Karantov said- "But Highness will excuse me if I saywe do not see you wish to WOT this war." He shrugged.

 "That can be remedied," Lysander said. He stood, and the others scrambled to their feet although there was no need to. "If that is your objection, I think it will be met soon enough. Dr. Whidock, you have full authority to negotiate for me," Lysander said. He bowed slightly. "I'll leave the specifics to Dr. Whidock.

But rest assured, rest assured, gentlemen, we do intend to win this war, and we will do whatever we must do. Wfwteverwe must do. Good afternoon."

 "Our Prince has grown a very great deal," Dr.

Whitiock said softly after Lysander left the room.

Everyone nodded.

 "Negotiate," Boris Karantov said.

 Caldwell Whitiock smiled broadly. "Negotiate indeed." He nodded to Slater, and Hal went to the bar and poured their glasses full of cognac again. Whidock passed diem out. "Now, what /all want is homes, good land, good positions for your families. Education for your children and grandchildren. Let me point out, gendemen, that one, two, maybe five percent of die developed land on Sparta belongs to rebels. Worth a whole lot All diat will come to die government when we win. We have land, honors, tides, a decent place to live.

We need a navy" He raised his glass. "Here's to you."

 Karantov looked to Newell, dien back to Whidock.

"Falkenberg makes no mistake in choosing you as his representative," he said. "I have always thought to retire to raise horses, perhaps sail small boats on a suitable lake. What say you, Captain Newell? Lord Admiral Newell has a pleasant sound. As does Baron Karantov. To Sparta."

 Clayton Newell looked at die odiers, dien around die room. He hesitated for a long moment before he spoke. "You speak for bodi Falkenberg and die Dual Monarchy." Whidock nodded. "Which means you speak for Lermontov and die Grants, even if you do not acknowledge diat."

 "Oh, I reckon I can say I do," Whidock said. "Long as it's strictly among us friends. Blames too, for diat matter. But you will understand. Captain, what widi die communications difficulties, sometimes we don't have orders, but we still got to act."

 "And you have diat audiority?"

 "We really are layin' all our cards on die table,"

Whidock said. "Well, it's dlis way. Colonel Falkenberg values King Alexander and Prince Lysander a lot, and of course anydiing purely havin' to do widi Sparta is goin' to be decided by die Spartans. Anydiing else is sort of up to me, and Lieutenant Colonels Slater and Owensford, acting collectively."

 Newell sat in an overstuffed leadier chair. "And you see no conflict of interest? Between Lennontov's interest and Sparta's?" He looked to Forrest and Nosov. "Nor do you?"

 Samuel Forrest shook his head. "Not really. You have to be aware diat King Alexander has been a Lermontov ally for a long time. Right now, under die CoDominium Treaty, Sparta isn't even supposed to have a foreign policy, let alone a navy, so how can diere be a conflict over external matters? But die simple answer is that King Alexander and Prince Lysander are aware of die situation, and they've left Dr. Whitlock to negotiate for them, so they must not see much conflict."

 Newell stared at each one in turn for a long time, then contemplated his still full glass. Finally he said, "Clearly Boris is convinced that your Prince Lysander, and all of you, may all be trusted." He spoke slowly and carefully, measuring every word. "I will confess, what we hear from Earth is alarming, and litde would surprise me.

War, a coup by Admiral Lermontov, perhaps more likely a coup against the Grand Admiral. No one knows what to expect." He shrugged. "Look, I find your offers attractive, I'd be a fool not to. But what happens if you don't win? Suppose Boris and I help you, and you lose?

Ws'd be gambling everything."

 "We are now," Hal Slater said carefully. "We don't intend to lose."

 "No one does," Newell said. "But it's not entirely in your power. You must know what you're up against.

Bronson's got money, power, ambition. He has his own shipping line, and enough money to arm those ships.

You could win your war, and still find this planet destroyed, with no CoDominium force to avenge you."

 "Which is why we need a fleet," Samuel Forrest said.

"It need not be a large fleet, just enough to take on armed merchant men. A squadron would do. I believe there is a squadron here, now." He raised his glass. To Sparta."

 Anatoly Nosov stood and held out his glass for a refill.

"Let us be specific. You have four warships here. One is frigate Volga, Commander Vadim Dzirkals, very much a Lermontov supporter. One is cruiser Vera Cruz, your own, and we presume your officers will follow as you lead.

One is frigate Kirou; do not know Commander Chomovil, but I understand he is intelligent, and certainty he was promoted by Lermontov. More to the point, four of his bridge officers formerly served with me in Moscoa. Fourth is destroyer Aegir, with American commander. I believe Captain Forrest knows him-"

 "Harry Clarkson," Forrest said. "A Townsend man, but I think most of his wardroom has other sentiments."

 "A fleet," Karantov said, "Perhaps sufficient no matter what Bronson sends."

 "You're suggesting mutiny," Newell said. His eyes darted around the room.

 "I suggest nothing," Nosov said. "But it is very much possible that soon there is no CoDominium, and it is to advantage of us all that we consider possibilities."

He raised his glass. To Sparta."

 "If there is no CoDominium, those with control of naval power will have great power indeed," Newell mused. "Much could be done with a squadron of warships. Not just here."

 "Well, I suppose," Dr. Whitlock said. "But then there's this. One time. Napoleon was admirin' his troops on parade. 'See the bayonets of my Guards, how they gleam,' he said. And Talleyrand said, Tou can do anything with a bayonet. Sire, except sit on it,' I'd think the same thing might apply to your warships, Captain. You can blow hell out of a planet, but where you goin' to set down? You want to face the kind of war the Spartans have been fighting? Spend your lives wondering when someone's going to kill your family?

Long time ago, a man named Ortega y Gasset pointed out, rulin's not so much a matter of an iron fist as it is of a firm seat." He raised his glass. To Sparta."

 "I will drink to Sparta," Newell said. "And perhaps when Spartans have achieved that firm seat. we will continue this discussion. Until then -" He raised his glass. To Sparta."

 •" CHAPTER TWELVE It will be agreed that the aim of strategy is to fulBll the objectives laid down by policy, making the best use of the resources available. Now the objective may be offensive in nature (e.g., conquest or the imposition of severe terms), it may be defensive (e.g., the protection of certain areas or interests) or ft may merely be the maintenance of the political status quo. It is therefore obvious straight away that formulae such as that attributed to Clausewitz, 'decision as a result of victory in battle,' are not applicable to all types of objective. There is only one general rule applicable to all: disregard the method by which the decision is to be reached and consider only the outcome which it is desired to achieve- The outcome desired is to force the enemy to accent the terms we wish to impose on him. In this dialectic of wills a decision is achieved when a certain psychological effect has been produced on the enemy: when he becomes convinced that it is useless to start or alternatively to continue the struggle.

-Genera] D'Armee Andr Beaufre, An Introduction to Strategy, <'<•<• From this time Cataline turned his back on politics because it involved envy and strife and was not the speediest and most effective means for attaining absolute power. He obtained quantities of money from women who hoped their husbands would be killed in a revolution, conspired with a number of senators and knights, and collected plebeians, foreigners, and slaves. Lesser leaders of the conspiracy were Cornelius Lentulus and Cethegus, then praetors- To the Sullans up and down Italy who had squandered their profits and were eager for similar doings he sent messengers. Gains Mallius to Faesulae in Etruria and others to Picenum and Apulia, and these quietly enrolled an army for him. These facts were still secret when they were communicated to Cicero by Fulvia, a woman of position.. - Moses Hadas, A History of Borne <• ^ ^ The Senate Chamber was unusually quiet. High marble walls, a dais for the speaker, benches encircling it. The Chamber had been designed as a romanticized version of the best description they had of the place of government of ancient Sparta.

 Two thrones, one to either side of the rostrum, stood empty as the Senators took their places around the room. There was an electric air, which made Senator Dion Croser nervous. What did they plan?

 There was a thundering knock at the door. The Sergeant at Arms opened it, looked out, and dosed the door again. "My Lord Speaker, the Kings ask admission."

 The Speaker's name was Loren Scaevoli, a dry stick of a man nearing his hundredth year and looking it even with regenn; he had been the youngest of the Founders. His voice had an unusual inflection to it this day, almost of glee. "Senators, the Kings ask admission to our chamber. What say you?"

 "Aye and welcome'" a hundred voices shouted.

 "Three cheers for His Majesty Alexander V"

 The cry ran through the chamber, and the crashing hurrah echoed from the high marble walls of the big semicircular room. One hundred twenty-three Senators lined the benches that encircled the dais; one hundred seventeen cheered. Dion Croser stood politely with his handful of supporters, waiting for the sound to die.

 "Three cheers for King David!" If there was any less enthusiasm it was hard to notice, but when someone shouted "And for Prince Lysander!" there was no mistaking the renewed enthusiasm.

 "It is the will of the Senate that the Kings be admitted," Scaevoli said formally. The Sergeant opened the door to allow them in, then closed it to exclude the Life Guards. By tradition the Kings of Sparta were guarded only by Senators when they entered the Senate chamber, and they entered only by permission, not as a matter of right.

 They came down the center aisle together, walking slowly.

 Something unusual, Croser thought with a prickle of interest, looking down at the Speakers dais. He had developed a certain affection for the mock-classical atmosphere in this room, and even for the cut and thrust of Parliamentary debate. Decadent and doomed, of course, but he would miss it; even the smells of tobacco and the leather cushions The Kings took their places in the twin thrones on either side of the Speaker's chair. David I, solemn and grim faced, as if he dreaded what was about to happen. And Alexander, smiling, looking very healthy indeed, compared to a few months ago. Damn him.

The waxing insanity of the CoIIins king had been a large part of his plans. Behind the dais the display wall was set to show the crowned mountain of the Dual Monarchy.

 for now, Croser thought. For now.

 The Privy Council, led by Crown Prince Lysander, filed in, taking their seats in the horseshoe-shaped area surrounding the thrones. That was unusual, except for the Budget Debates and the yearly Speech from the Thrones. Then the five Ephors, the direct representatives of the Citizens. Croser raised his eyes to the spectator's gallery that ringed the upper story of the chamber, just under the coffered ceiling. One of his supporters was arguing with the guard.

 Trouble, he thought, looking down at Us fingers arranging the papers on the table before him. Black folders against the creamy stone, the whole interior was lined with it... He tapped at the terminal built into it; the library functions were active, but not the communicator.

 The senators who had escorted the Kings to their thrones filed back to the benches. The Sergeant at Arms carried in the mace of office on its crimson cushion, and the Senatorial Chaplain delivered his invocation, ending as always, "God save the State," but it seemed more than perfunctory today.

 'This one hundredth seventy-eight session of the Senate of the Dual Monarchy of Sparta will now come to order. This is to be an Executive Session; I remind all members of this august body that there exists a state of apprehended insurrection."

 Croser pressed a key "Point of order, Mr. Speaker,".

he said, and the computers relayed his voice until it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. "Is this to be a closed session? Pursuant to the Senatorial Rules of Procedure and the Constitution, Article XXI, Rights of Assembly and Information Access, I protest that such action is highly irregular if not unconstitutional without prior notice."

 The Speaker's eyes were almost hidden by their wrinkled pouches.

 "Senator Croser, you are not recognized."

 "I protest!"

 "Protest is noted; please be seated, sir."

 The Speaker raised the amplification. "Senators, I spy strangers. The Sergeant at Arms will dear the Senate Chamber of all who do not belong here."

 Something squeezed at Croser's stomach, as the clerks and secretarial staff left their posts. Shouts came from the galleries; Guard troops were clearing them, and though their uniforms were the gray and blue and silver of ceremony, their nfies held magazines and fixed bayonets. He half-rose and chopped one hand down across his chest; above him his bodyguard   Cheung relaxed from the beginning of a move that would have ripped out a soldier's throat as he sprang to seize a weapon. The visitors were led away, out of the galleries, out of the chamber.

 Croser keyed the circuit that connected him with the other NCLF representatives in the Senate. "All to be detained," he murmured. "So that nothing can get out. Although silence is a message in itself." "Leader, what shall we do?" one of his supporters hissed in his ear.

"Shut up."

"But, Leader -"

"Shut up and stay shut up. Not one word, any of you; not under any circumstances whatsoever."

 Croser forced his lips to stop curling back from his ' teeth, tasting sweat as he reached out calmly to take a sip of water. What was it that old tombstone said? "I expected this, but not so soon."

 The Speaker rapped his gavel. "I recognize the President of the Council of Ephors," he said.

 Citizen Selena Borah Dawson, wife of the Principal Secretary of State, and very popular in Citizen Assemblies, The Ephors functioned largely as ombudsmen, but they had certain formal duties as direct representatives of the Citizens. "Senators, I ask for a resolution which under the Constitution the Kings may not request, but which you may grant."

 There was a ripple of movement. Croser hit the record and playbacVscan functions. "Ah, interesting,"

he murmured. "See, there are the ones who knew it was coming." Excellent security on this measure, if Murasaki hadn't picked it up. A damaging blow, despite all the preparations.

 "Senators, I make no speeches," Selena Dawson said. "The Speaker will show the evidence on which the request of the Citizens will be based."

 "Hie Speaker touched buttons, doing the work of his vanished clerk. The crowned mountain faded from the giant display screen above the dais, to be replaced with a close-up shot. Croser recognized it; the Velysen ranch, with the dead bodies displayed.

 "Senators, bear witness," the old man said.

 The image faded, to be replaced by another. This time a bleeding child, screaming by the corpse of its mother outside a burning building.

 Hmmm. Croser thought. Oh yes, the Hume Consolidated Financial Bank bombing.

 More. Burnt out ranches. A playback of Steven Armstrong's engine crew drowning before the camera as their ship sank, of his family burning in their car.

Chaos and blood in a restaurant, and a young man with his ribs peeled open by the grenade he had smothered. The frozen body of Deborah Lefkowitz, as the Helots and the scavengers had left it. More still; after fifteen minutes Croser leaned back in his chair and let his eyes slide down to the panel before him, flicking through shots of the other Senator's faces.

Even a few of his own NCLF appointees were looking gray; there were tears elsewhere on the benches, and not only among women. A few were looking away also, swallowing. Colleagues moved to assist one elderly representative who fainted.

 "And the final horror," the Speaker said. The wall was filled with the image of the shattered bunker at the Stora Mine. The camera moved inside, to hospital beds thrown over, then came to a halt on a tangle of broken and bleeding children shielded by dying women. "A deliberate act, done with equipment imported for the purpose," Scaevoli said. "Imported from off-planet, brought all this way to be used to kill our women and children. Madame President, do the Ephors have a request of this body?"

 "We do. My Lord Speaker The State is in danger.

We ask for the Ultimate Decree."

 Lars Armstrong leapt to his feet, "At last!"

 I might have known, Croser thought. Steven Armstrong's brother, and his successor as representative of the Maritime Products Trade Association.

 Scaevoli looked to the Ephors. "Is this the request of the Ephors? Do each of you agree?" Three nods of assent. A fourth, a young man thought to be a radical fireball, stood staring in horror at the screen- He looked from that to Croser, looked defiantly to the Speaker. "Aye," he said.

 The Speaker bowed, and turned to the chamber. "I recognize Senator Armstrong."

 "My Lord Speaker, I move that the Senate instruct die Kings to take all measures necessary to ensure the safety of the state, effective as of this date and to run for one Spartan year before expiry or renewal."

 "Mr. Speaker!" Croser said, shooting to his feet.

 "I recognize Senator Croser."

 "If the honorable Senator moves the Ultimate Decree -" essentially a drastic form of martial law, with the suspension of civil rights "- then surely there must be debate beyond mere assertion! Is this a deliberative body, or a rubber-stamp whose assent is secured in advance by conspiracy?"

 Or a lynch mob, he thought, looking at the faces glaring at him from every corner of the chamber.

 "Mr. Speaker."

 "I recognize Senator Armstrong."

 "Mr. Speaker." Armstrong was a tall blond man like his brother, perhaps a little heavier, with hair that was thinning on top. His smile was much like that of the carnivore piscoids his family's ships hunted. "I can best reply using words other than my own.

 "How long, Croser. how long" he began, in a calm conversational tone.

 "How long will you continue your abuse of our forbearance? What bounds wtB. you set to your display of reckless contempt? Are you not affected by the alarm of the people, by the rallying of all loyal citizens, by the convening of the senate in this safely-guarded spot, by the looks and expressions of all assembled here? Do you not perceive that your designs are exposed? The Senate is weU aware of the facts, but the criminal stiU lives. Lives? Yes, lives; and even comes down to the Senate, takes part in the public deliberations, and marks down with ominous glances every single one of us for massacre.

 "As to why -" Armstrong pointed silently to the screen.

 Croser waited out the applause. You'll envy your brother before I'm through with you, he thought coldly.

 "Mr. Speaker," he said quietly.

 "I recognize Senator Croser."

•, "My compliments to the Senator on his ability to paraphrase the Classics; however, he is not Marcus Tullius Cicero. Nor is this Rome. Nor am I," he went on, letting a slight sneer into his tone, "the brother of the man whose agents destroyed a shuttle with over one thousand men, women and children aboard - an atrocity I note is not among the disgraceful collection of demagogic propaganda to which we have been exposed! An atrocity which has imperiled the independence of Sparta."

 One of Armstrong's friends gripped him by the arm as he began a lunge forward.

 "If this assembly," Croser went on, "wishes to emulate the Senate of the late Roman Republic - and court the same fate at the hands of ambitious generals and mercenary armies - then at least my voice will have been heard in warning!"

 He sat. Not bad, he thought. Not that it would make any difference, but it would be there on the record.

Another Senator asked for the floor.

 "I recognize Senator Hollings."

 "Mr. Speaker. While I agree that a grave emergency confronts the State, I am disturbed by the reckless haste with which the Ultimate Decree has been proposed; in fact -"

 Croser glanced at his wrist; a half-hour since the session began. Longer the better, he thought.

 At last the Speakers gavel fell. "Senators, do I hear a second for Senator Armstrongs motion?"

 "I second."

 "Senator Makeba seconds. Senators, a motion is before this assembly. The Ephors acting in their capacity as Protectors of the Citizens have requested the Ultimate Decree, authorizing the Kings to take all necessary actions to safeguard the State, and it has been duly moved and seconded. Duration is one year from this date, subject to renewal by vote. A two-thirds majority is necessary for the passage of this Decree.

Senators, you have one minute to register your will."

 A thick silence descended; despite the ventilators, Croser could smell the sweat of fear and tension. At last Scaevoli looked up from his desk and smiled at him.

 "For, one hundred seven votes. Against, eight votes.

 Eight abstentions. The Decree is in force, as of this day, April seventeenth, , and this hour."

 The old man rose, moving with careful dignity. There was a slight gasp as he lifted the Mace of the Senate from its cushion; the procedure was laid down in the Constitution, but Sparta had never seen it done in all the years since the Founding. Scaevoli turned, bowing as he laid the symbol of representative power on the empty plinth equidistant between the two thrones.

 "Your Majesties," he said, bowing to the left and right. "Into your hands we yield the Sword of the State. May God preserve and guide you."

 "Amen," Alexander said.

 He stood. After a moment David I stood as well.

 "Our first act shall be to appoint Crown Prince Lysander as Master of the Forces," Alexander said, "He shall act in the name of the Kings with the authority of the Kings until such time as we shall rescind those powers." He bowed toward David.

 David said, "So be it," and sat.

 Alexander was still on his feet. "Senators," he said.

"One man is the author of our miseries; one man is responsible for the unspeakable conspiracy which has caused so much suffering and death among Our people." He paused, as aU eyes turned to Croser.

"From respect for your august assembly's immunity from executive action, I now require that you place under arrest Senator Dion Croser, on charges of High Treason, and take him from this place to be delivered to duly appointed officers who shall place him in custody and hold him at our pleasure."

 Croser stood; something seemed to pass from his face, as if an invisible mask had been removed.

 "Very well." His voice cut through the buzz of excitement that tilled the chamber, clear and carrying enough not to need amplification; half a dozen Senators were elbowing their way toward him.

 Treason?" he said coldly, then laughed. "I too have an appropriate quotation. 'Why is it that treason never prospers? 'Why, if it prosper, none dare caU it treason!'"

 Suence fell for a moment. "And if this is treason, rest assured I shall make the most of it. I'll be back"

 "Attach the leads here and here, please," Jesus Alanasaid.

 They had selected a small staff office in the Palace for the interrogation; the chair to which Croser was strapped was already secured to the floor, and the equipment had been easy to set up.

 "As you can see, gentlemen," Alana went on, "this is a completely non intrusive technique. No pain or drugs. The subject condemns himself."

 Alexander and David seated themselves in one corner, determination and distaste on their faces; the Senators joined them, and Scaevoli, who watched with bright-eyed interest- Prince Lysander entered in full uniform.

 "About time," he said softly, smiling at Croser.

 "About bloody time,"

 "Catherine?"

"Ready to calibrate," she replied, looking up from die desk.

 "Senator Croser," Jesus Alana said politely. "You realize this system doesn't require your collaboration?

Your body and nervous system cannot lie to the machines; even if you don't say a word, 'yes' and 'no' will come through as clearly as if you had shouted.

Why don't you cooperate now, and save us all time and trouble, and yourself some discomfort?"

 Croser could not move in the padded clamps, but he managed to spit with fair accuracy at the Legionnaire's feet- Jesus Alana sighed.

 "Is your name Dion Croser?" he asked.

 "Got it, positive," Catherine said.

 "Are you a dolphin?"

 "Negative, Jesus."

 "Are you leader of the conspiracy to overthrow the Dual Monarchy?"

 "Positive, ninety-seven percent. Fear reaction.

 aggression. Ambivalence; he's been wondering if he's stiff really in charge."

 Tlus time Croser spoke: "Om."

 "Do you know the woman known as Field Prime?"

 "Om mane padme hum."

 "Does she work for you?"

 "Tk T "

 No- "Uncertainty," said Catherine.

 "With reason," Jesus answered. "You have been engaged in warfare against the Dual Monarchy. Are you in the employ of anyone off-planet? Are you in the employ of Grand Senator Bronson?"

 Catherine shook her head.

 Jesus Alana smiled thinly. "Have you received material and financial assistance from Grand Senator Bronson? Thank you. Do you receive much assistance from that source? Was one item of that assistance a large missile designed to penetrate and destroy fortresses? Ah, you remember that missile. Were you aware that this missile was to be employed in the attack on the Stora mines?"

 "Not for that!"

 "Not for what, Senator?" Jesus asked pleasantly.

"You were then aware that there would be an attack on the mine. Did you approve that attack?"

 "Om mane padme hum."

 'To whom did you give that approval? Did you give approval to Field Prime? Thank you. Is Skida Thibodeau the person known as Field Prime?"

 "Om mane padme hum."

 "Where is Field Prime now? Do you want to see her? Shall we bring her to you when we have captured her? Perhaps you would care to be in the same cell?"

 Croser looked as if he had swallowed a serpent.

Catherine held up her thumb and forefinger joined in a circle. Her smile showed wicked glee.

  "Does Senator Bronson have representatives on this planet? Ah, does he have more than one? Ah.

Tliank you, we will return to that point later. For now, does the term technoninja mean anything to you? Do the technoninjas work for you?"

 "Doubt again, Jesus," Catherine said.

 "So. Ms. Thibodeau calls herself Field Prime. Do you have a title in this movement? What is that tide?

Are you called President? Chairman? Something Prime? Ah. Sparta Prime? Political Prime? Movement Prime?"

 "Om mane padme hum."

 "City Prime? Not city but closer. Ah. Capital Prime? So. You are known as Capital Prime," Jesus said. "You see. Senator, it does you no good to evade, and I fear your bio-feedback training is not up to this task. Do you know where Field Prime is? Do you know where her primary base is located? Thank you.

Do others around you know? Does the bodyguard known as Cheung know?" Jesus smiled wolfishly. "You may be pleased to know that the Cheung brothers are reunited, in the basement of the Palace. We will soon know all that they know."

 "So much for your legalities," Croser said. "Lee Cheung has committed no crime. I didn't know he had a brother."

 "Both lies," Catherine said.

 "Ah, but under the Ultimate Decree we need not prove a crime to detain someone," Jesus said.

 "It wasn't passed yet when you arrested him."

 "True, but he was seen to be armed in the Senate Galleries. He was detained for proper identification, but before his release - you see. Senator, you are not the only one who can employ the law for his own purposes. We now require confirmation of information we already have. Is the primary base camp in the Southeast? Here, on this map."

 "Om mane padme hum."

 "Do you ever eat dogfood for breakfast?"

 "Om mane padme hum."

 "Was your mother attractive?"

 "Om mane padme hum."

 "In this sector then? Ah. In this river valley?"

 "Om mane padme hum."

 "How far from the river is the entrance to that cave known as Base One? More than two hundred kilometers? More than three hundred?"

 "Om mane padme hum."

 "Did you order the assassination of Alicia Armstrong?"

 "Om mane padme hum."

 "Ah," Catherine said. "Reaction damping a little . - Negative. He didn't"

 "Was the bombing which killed Alicia Armstrong done on your orders."

 "Om mane padme hum."

 "Positive, with some ambivalence, Jesus. Remarkably good control over his pulse rate," she added.

"Congratulations, Senator. I've worked with few better."

 "Did you intend the bombing to kill Senator Steven Armstrong?"

 "Om mane padme hum,"

 "Positive, he did,"

 "Is Senator Hollings a member of your conspiracy?"

 "Om mane padme hum,"

 "Negative on that, but there's some ambiguity."

 "Do you consider Senator Hollings to be an unconscious supporter of your conspiracy?"

 "Om mane padme hum."

 "Yes-no."

 "A dupe?"

 "Positive."

 "Would you call him a useful idiot?"

 That's it," Catherine said.

 "Is the moon made of dog droppings?"

 "Om mane padme hum."

 "Is the base camp more than thirty kilometers from the bend in the river? Ah, is it more than fifteen?

More than ten? More than ten but less than fifteen, then..."

 "I'm glad that's over," Alexander said as the guards took Croser away. A look of distaste bent the Spartan king's mouth for a moment. "It's necessary, but I don't like it."

 Lysander's face showed no emotion at all.

 "Over for the moment, Sire," Jesus Alana said, looking up from his notes. He punched a key. "There, the RSMP and the Milice can act on the new information.

There's a great deal more information yet to be got out of Croser," he added. "Madre de Dios, I'm happy we didn't have to beat it out of him; that one, you could pull his toenails out and get nothing."

 "I can still hardly believe it," David said, shaking his head and looking at his hands. "All these years, he was ... and this was inside him, this sewer. How could, he was meeting people and smiling at them and talking and all along... Is he mad?"

 "No. Sire," Catherine Alana said, beginning the shutdown on her equipment as she went on: Thibodeau may be, technically, from the profile we've built. Human beings have a capacity to leam speech, and to develop a conscience; if they aren't taught at the right stage, conscience atrophies, and you get a feral child or a sociopath. She could be a borderline sociopath. Croser's as sane as any of us here - and as bright, IQ of about one hundred fitty-two - he's just too bloody evil to be allowed to live."

 "Amen," Alexander said grimly. "And he'll hang, along with the others we catch."

 "And his property goes to reward loyal Citizens,"

Lysander said. He leaned forward to study the form his father held in his hands. It was a proscription notice, bearing the Royal seals and signatures, describing the individuals' crimes and ending with an identical proclamation: to be cast out from all protection of law; declared to be among the enemies-general of humankind. to be dealt with as wolves are.

 "Suitable," he said. "I just hope we catch them all,"

 "We won't," Jesus replied, calling up some of his notes. 'They had plans; cut-outs, dispersal plans, duplicate facilities, you name it. Friend Croser was smart enough to arrange not to know a lot of details, and a lot of them will be going to ground right now.

We'll sweep up a good many of the big names, and any number of the dupes who didn't know the NCLF was in the rebellion."

 "We must be careful of those," Alexander said.

"They have committed no crime-"

 "Sire, they were at best very stupid," Lysander said, "And while we can't proscribe stupidity, we don't need to reward it. I take it. Captain, you do not consider this morning decisive."

 "On the contrary. Highness, I believe it is the most decisive act since the war began. We have undoubtedly hurt them very badly, and if we can keep them on the run we may be able to end this war."

 'The leadership," Alexander said. "We need Miss Thibodeau."

 "And Murasaki," Jesus Alana said. "He perhaps more than the others, Sire."

 "We shall proclaim rewards for both of them," Alexander said. "One million crowns, payable in CoDominium credits if so desired, for the head of Skida Thibodeau. Two million if she is delivered alive.

Half a million for Murasaki dead, one million alive.

Half that for information leading to their death or capture. We'll set up ways to make it easy to tell us."

 "That should prove interesting," Jesus said. "Some of those gutter scum would sell their entire families for much less. I foresee interesting times for their leadership."

 "What will you do now?" Alexander asked l^sander.

 "Melissa will recover," Lysander said. "I'd like to stay with her, but you've just made me Master of the Forces, and I don't suppose I'll have a free moment.

I'm not protesting, it's what I asked for."

 "Be careful what you wish for," Catherine Alana said softly.

 "Exactly. We will need to marshal our forces against this Base One of theirs, and this time we will destroy it. It and all the equipment in it. But that isn't going to be simple."

 "Indeed," Jesus Alana said- The Legion will assist, of course, particularly with the artillery, but most of this must be primarily a Spartan effort."

 "Yes. And that, I have to say, is quite satisfactory. It's not that I don't value the Legion s contributions-"

 "But it's nice to have your destiny in your own hands." Catherine said. "We understand, Highness.

Maybe better than you think."

 ^ CHAPTER THIRTEEN Guerrillas required a base. Although they traditionally lived partially at their enemy's expense - because of their raids against supply depots and convoys - guerrillas still needed a place that provided them an assured source of supplies, such as Mina's secluded area and powder factory.

Without such a base, the need for food, fuel, equipment, and ammunition would dominate their operations, place a severe constraint both on their movements and their choice of objectives for their raids, and could drive them from one raid to another in search of supplies until they had exhausted their physical and psychological resources. In addition, a base provided a place for rest and recuperation and a point to which they could retreat. Thus, the base had to be reasonably secure from enemy attack...

 - Archer Jones, The Art Of War in the Western World <• -- <> One of the surest means of making a retreat successfully is to familiarize the officers and soldiers with the idea that an enemy may be resisted quite as well when coming on the rear as on the front, and that the preservation of order is the only means of saving a body of troops harassed by the enemy during a retrograde movement. Rigid discipline is at all times the best preservation of good order, but it is of especial importance during a retreat. To enforce discipline, subsistence must be furnished, that the troops may not be obliged to straggle off for the purpose of getting supplies by marauding.

 It is a good plan to give the command of the rear-guard to an officer of great coolness . ..

 - Baron Antoine Henri de Jomini, The Art of War ^ •$• ^ The helicopters skimmed in low over the hilltop.

 jerry PoumeUe 'b S M Sttriing The long twilight of Sparta's northern-hemisphere summer was settling over the Dales, throwing purple shadows over the forested vales between me hillsGarnering dusk made die muzzle flashes huge belches of leaf-shaped flame as the howitzers bellowed from their laager, six mm cannon on hght-tank chassis.

They and their supporting vehicles were dug in behind a two-meter berm gouged out by the engineering vehicles. A line of trucks snaked back to the south, bringing up heavy shells to feed the iron appetite of the guns. A radar vehicle stood a little to one side, its big golf-ball shaped tracking antenna rocldng slightly on its gimbals; other vehicles were spotted around the enclosure, APC's for the crews, communications tanks, trucks, a field-kitchen.

 Peter Owensford stood in the open doorway of the aircraft; the moment the skids touched down he tumbled out, followed by his Headquarters group. Then me lead helicopter whirled away, and the second touched down briefly to disgorge its load. The dark machines sped south, hugging the nape of the earth, the low slicing sound of their silenced blades fading quickly. The soldiers' boots swished in grass, sank into the soft fluffy purple-brown earth thrown up by spades and earthmoving machinery or simply ripped free of the sod by treads and wheels; it smelled as rich as new bread, under the overpowering sweetness of crushed grass and the diesel-explosive stink of war.

 Fwe tubes firing, he thought, remembering to leave his mouth slightly open so the overpressure would not damage eardrums. The sixth must be deadlined for maintenance, about par for the course. The artillery barrage halted, an echoing silence broken by the squeal of bearings as the self-propelled guns shifted targets. Off on the horizon to the north light flickered, lighter weapons firing. Owensford tapped into the battalion push as he walked toward the command table set up at the rear of an APC. Shashtri had just acknowledged a request for counterbattery fire; as they walked up he could see a spyeye or RPV surveillance camera view of the target, two batteries of heavy mortars firing from within a narrow erosion-cut gully in the limestone rock. Sash-is singsong voice murmured as the little Krishnan bent over the table.

 Muzzle flashes came from the enemy 's. The table was Legion-standard equipment, either what they had brought to Sparta or one of the shipments of Friedlander battle electronics just coming in; looking down was like being suspended in an aircraft observing the Helot battery. The silence was eerie, you expected to hear the CRUMP and whistle of heavy mortars . ..

giddy-making, as the viewpoint shifted. Definitely an RPV about a kilometer to one side. The muzzles of the mortars dipped as the hydraulics lowered them into loading position.

 "Fire mission. HE and anti-personnel equal measures," Major Sastri said. He touched controls and a grid sprang out on the table-screen, and then a red dot centered on the enemy position. "Bearing and range, mark."

 Another voice sounded, calm and flat, the battery commander. "Received and locked." Clangs and rattles from the guns as the autoloaders cycled. "Loaded basebleed HE standard. Gun one, ranging fire. Mark.

Shoot."

 A short massive sound, slapping dirt and grit across the firebase in a hot puff as the first gun fired and gas shot out of the twin-baffle muzzle brakes. "Hie gun recoiled, and the vehicle rocked back on its treads slightly, digging the spades at the rear of the chassis deeper into the dirt. A sound like heavy cloth tearing faded across the sky to the north. The mortars on the screen were firing when the shell exploded eleven seconds later, on the lip of the crevasse in which they were emplaced and directly above them.

 "Correction," Shashtri said. He read off numbers from the map table. "Execute fire mission, battery, fire for effect," Shashtri said.

 Almost on the heels of the words the other guns of the battery opened up, cycling out the heavy shells at one every seven seconds. On the screen the narrow slit in the earth vanished; most of the mm rounds dropped neatly through it, to gout back out in whitelight flashes. Several struck the rock lips on either side and penetrated before exploding, sending multitone cascades of chalky rubble down into the depths of the canyon. Smoke and dust billowed back, silent and dreadful; then the ammunition with the mortars detonated in a string of secondary explosions that lifted the whole hillside up in a crackle-finished dome of smoke.

 The image jiggled. An operator spoke: "Acquisition on the drone. Tracking. Evasive action." The surface rushed up and the viewpoint was jinking down a valley. Suddenly camouflage nets showed between the trees, IR-sensor enhancement.

Owensford leaned forward in sharp curiosity, and then the screen went to pearly-gray blankness.

 "Battery, fire mission," Sastri said thoughtfully.

"Three rounds. Penetrator and impact-fuse, mark."

His fingers touched a portable keyboard. "Whatever was under that net is deserving a tickle."

 He looked up and saluted- "With you in a moment, sir. Captain Uu. take over. This way."

 They walked downslope and south, speaking quietly; the helmet earphones filtered the huge thudding noise of the guns.

 "Not having much trouble?" Owensford said.

"No indeed, sir. The preliminary artillery duel went as expected, and now they have nothing with the range to reach us, while we can hit them as we please. The drones provide good observation, and me Spartan scouts are proving very effective as well. This is a very one-sided battle, and so long as we have ammunition it will continue to be."

 "Just the land I like," Owensford said. "Well done."

 'Thank you, sir. Ah, here we are." The secondary laager was a little apart from the regimental artillery battery; one vehicle was a trailer, from which a tent had been unfolded.

 They ducked inside the tent, flipping up the visors of their helmets. There were four men inside; George Slater, commander of st Brigade, the spearpoint force of die Royal Army columns heading north into the Dales. The Royal Army colonel commanding the nd Mechanized Regiment . . . Morrientes, Owensford remembered, he'd been a Brotherhood militia officer last year, transferred to the Field Force shortly after the first Dales campaign. A Royal Army interrogator, a sergeant; tall, wiry-slender, beak-nosed and thin-faced, with steady dark eyes. And a Helot, in the dentist-style chair, his head and limbs immobilized by clamps; his face had the glazed, wandering look of someone under questioning drugs.

 Not really truth drugs, the mercenary reminded himself. All they really did was make you not give a damn, and feel very, very chatty. Individual reactions varied widely, as well, unless you had time and facilities to do up a batch adjusted to the subject's personal biochemistry. Spartan biochemists had the knowledge to do that, but the proper equipment was rare outside the University.

 "Carry on," Owensford said. He caught the sergeant's eye. "Important prisoner?"

 "Equivalent of colonel, sir," the interrogator said.

 "I've got a transcript..." He bent to the captive's ear.

"Is it your fault, Perrez?"

 "No," the man muttered, his eyes roving the room without seeing the faces around them.

 For a moment he tailed off in a mutter of Spanish.

Spanglish, actually; Owensford recognized the dialect, common in the tier of states south of the Rio Grande which had once been part of Mexico. The sergeant's gentle urging brought him back to something more generally comprehensible.

 "That maricon kraut von Reuter, he no pull back fast enough. If Skilly were here, no esta problema, the Cits wouldn't comprende where we were. Uttle shits, sneaking through the trees and spying, Skilly would get them. Two-knife would. Reuter doesn't have half the cojones Skilly does." He giggled, speculating obscenely on where she kept them.

 "So where is Skilly?"

 "She run off, she and Two-knife both. Gone. Bug out, baby."

 "Leaving you behind with von Reuter."

 "Yeah."

 "Why?"

 "She got a plan, that one."

 "She didn't tell you the plan, did she? Ran off, leaving you behind. How do you know there was a plan, that she wasn't just saving her own skin?"

 "Naw, she wouldn't do that. She wouldn't!"

 "What do your troops think about the plan?"

 "They don't believe no plan. They think what you say, she run off, save hide. Hey man, you got any agua?"

 "Sure. Here you go. Where did you say Skilly went?"

 "Didn't say. You trying to fool me! But I didn't say because I don' know where she went. Bugged out, that one, say she got a plan, and off she goes. With that Jap."

 "What Jap?"

 "Crazy one. Murasald-san. Nothing working the way he expect, not any more. He go off mad, that one." The prisoner began to sing obscenely.

 The sergeant got up and came over to them. "Probably not a lot more today," he said. 'That stuff tires diem out fast."

 "Is this one guilty of atrocities?" Owensford asked.

 "Not that I know of," the sergeant said. "He wasn't at Stora at all. Want me to work on atrocity stories?"

 "Actually, no," Owensford said. "If he's not obviously guilty of a hanging offense I'd as soon keep it that way. Tell you what. Sergeant, you see what else you can get, then wrap him up good and turn him over to my headquarters people. I'll take him back to Sparta City. Sort of a present for His Majesty."

 "Yes, sir."

 Owensford led the way out of the tent. Outside he turned to Morrientes. "So we're not going to catch their leaders."

 Morrientes shook his head. "This is independent corroboration," he said. "Most of the Helot high command just aren't here. Nobody's seen them in days."

 'That must upset the hell out of their troops,"

Owensford said.

 "Well. yes, sir. I'd say so, because when we advance we find abandoned equipment, weapons even. and whole platoons ready to surrender."

 "Good. Keep pushing," Owensford said, "And we may even have a surprise for you. A pleasant one."

 "Sir?"

 "It looks like Prince Lysander has talked the CD into making sure our next satellite stays intact."

 "Now that's good news."

 Owensford stood for a time listening to the artillery bombardment. What the hell plan has Skilly got this time? Whatever it is. we can see she pays like hell for it. "Good work, Morrientes. Very good work indeed.

Carry on, and Godspeed."

 ^ ^ <• Brigade Leader Hans von Reuter raised himself to his hands and knees, then staggered to his feet wiping at the blood at the comer of his mouth. Around him his headquarters staff were doing the same, righting pieces of equipment that had toppled when the salvo landed practically right outside the cave. His ears were ringing, and he worked his mouth carefully and spat to get the iron-and-salt taste out of his mouth.

 "Location," he said. His face was impassive, a square chiseled blank. Now I know how von Paulns felt in Stalingrad, he thought. Duty is duty, however.

 There were screams from outside, from men and the worse sounds of wounded horses. They grew louder as wounded were dragged inside and carried over to the improvised aid-station on the other side of the big cavern, laid down amid the glossy stalactites that sprouted from the sandy floor. Corpsmen with red M symbols on their jackets scurried among them, sorting them for triage and slapping on hyposprays of anesthetic. Outside a slow series of rifle-shots gave the horses and mules slashed by shrapnel or pulped by blast their own peace.

 "Here, ah, here, sir," the plotter said, drawing a black circle on the plastic cover of the map, once the easel was back up.

 "Hmmph," von Reuter grunted. Too far. The Royalist position was twenty kilometers back, and the only weapons he had available that might reach that far were twisted scrap under a hillside half a kilometer away.

 Infiltration^ he thought Again, no. The enemy had gotten much better at that sort of thing; also, there were just too many of them, and clearly they intended to pound him to bits before advancing. They'd be inserting those SAS teams across his retreat routes, too.

No dangerous subtleties or daring sweeps, just a straight hammerblow, rolling northwest and then veering northeast toward the exact location of Base One. The Royalist columns were coordinating well, with intensive patrolling between. He was having enough problems stopping them from infiltrating his own positions. Mostly they were bypassing or punching through any screen he put into place, the lead elements encircling the Helot blocking forces for the foot-infantry marching up behind to eliminate This is the set piece battle the Royals have always wanted. Now they have it.

 It shouldn't have happened. When the Senate passed its Ultimate Decree the Helot army should have dispersed, disbanded if necessary. Let the Royals have the bulk of the equipment and stores, take the irreplaceable equipment and retreat to the hills and wastes with the even less replaceable trained officers and non-corns - We did not do that in time. Field Prime was certain that we would have more time, but there was no time at aU. The Legion SAS forces, then Royals, both with those damned missiles, were in place in hours. We could have fought past them if we had sent everything immediately, but Field Prime tried another plan, then another when that failed, and now J am defeated.

 Doubly defeated, because it had taken all his skill to preserve the Stora Commando as it attempted to retreat from the determined attention of the Brotherhood forces and militia- When he was ordered to return to defend Base One, the Commando was doomed as an organized force. Except/or those already extracted. Some of the best of the Commando. And many of the politicals. And it was the same here, many ofthe best gone before! arrived Cone to I do not know where.

 Doubtless Field Prime has a plan, and doubtless it will be brilliant, and complex as usual. Amateurs beUeve simplicity means that a few things can go wrong and the plan will still work. She has no concept.

Falkenberg's people well understand that no battle plan survives contact with the enemy. Field Prime has heard the words but they have no meaning to her let she has come close to success Perhaps this time it will work.

 She only has to win once.

 And none of that was important. His mission now was to delay the enemy as much as possible. He could use anything left of the equipment, and delay was more important than preserving his force. Of course they must not know that, or they will simply run away.

Already they resent that Field Prime is no longer here.

Von Reuter sighed. He had taken no part in the attack on'hon-combatants at the Stora Mine, but he was quite certain to be tried as a war criminal for his part in the poison gas attack in the Dales; and even if he could surrender he would not. He had ms professional honor to consider.

 The orders are to delay. I am not told why, merely that it is important. It is not easily done. His forces simply could not move as fast as the Royals, not at foot and animal-transport speeds; it was difficult even to break contact once the Royals advanced. His heavy weapons were outranged, and could be used once and once only: then they were destroyed by the suddenly excellent enemy artillery.

 They find us easily. Almost as if they have a satellite.

 Surely they do not. Field Prime would have told me?

 Small anns fire crackled; he looked up sharply, estimating distances.

 "Evacuate," he snapped. "Company Leader Gimbowitz." The chief of the field-hospital looked up.

"You have the enemy wounded here as well?"

 The doctor nodded, swallowing; he knew as well as the commander what came next "We cannot take prisoners or wounded with us," von Reuter said regretfully. "I must ask for medical volunteers to remain with them until the enemy arrives. They will have permission to contact the Royalist commanders once their troops are in me immediate vicinity."

 That made it unlikely the Helot wounded would be slaughtered. Individual soldiers of both sides were as likely as not to shoot out of hand individual soldiers of the other who tried to surrender, but the Royalist senior officers were sticklers for the Laws of War. For that matter, wounded men and medics in an organized setting were reasonably safe.

 He turned. "Quickly, please," he said, "Croup Leader Sandina, please see to the demolition charges on the equipment we cannot remove."

 ^ CHAPTER FOURTEEN There are two central causes of the generally poor Western military record in the field of counterinsurgency. The first is that Western armies are either not large enough or do not consider it important enough to maintain a full-time, well-qualified cadre for counterinsurgency tasks. This is perhaps a good choice, because the main task for these organizations is to ensure an adequate response in the event of higher forms of conflict. The resulting cost, of course, is to occasionally field partially qualified novices in counterinsurgency situations where professionals are required. The second cause of lackluster Western military performance is that Western peoples will not long tolerate the use of their soldiers in suppressing rebellions in a distant land, whether their soldiers are in a direct combat role or serving as advisors.

 An international corporation composed of former Western officers and soldiers skilled in acceptable counterinsurgency techniques would largely solve both of these Western counterinsurgency problems . . . Considering the record of most Western governments in the field of counterinsurgency, the corporation would not have to work very hard to achieve comparatively superior results. And a commercial concern woufd likely attain those improvements at considerably less cost.

 -RodPaschall LIC : Special Operations and Unconventional Warfare in the NesS Century (Institute of Land Warfare, Association of the US Army, ) <••"•"

 If, in the future, war will be waged for the souls of men, then the importance of extending territorial control will go down.

Long past are the days when provinces, even entire countries, were regarded simply as items of real estate to be exchanged   among rulers by means of inheritance, agreement, or force. The triumph of nationalism has brought about a situation where people do not occupy a piece of land because it is valuable; on the contrary, a piece of land however remote or desolate is considered valuable because it is occupied by this people or that To adduce but two examples out of many, since at least India and Pakistan have been at loggerheads over a glacier so remote that it can hardly even be located on a map. Between and , Egypt spent nine years of diplomatic effort in order to recover Taba. Now Taba, south of Elath, is a half-mile stretch of worthless desert beach whose very existence had gone unnoticed by both Egyptians and Israelis prior to the Camp David Peace Agreements; all of a sudden it became part of each side's "sacred" patrimony and coffee-houses in Cairo were named after it.., Another effect of the postulated breakdown of conventional war will probably be a greater emphasis on the interests of men at the head of the organization, as opposed to the interest, of the organization as such... Individual glory, profit, and booty gained directly at the expense of the civilian population will once again become important, not simply as incidental rewards but as the legitimate objectives of war. Nor is it improbable that the quest for women and sexual gratification will re-enter the picture. As the distinctions between combatants and noncombatants break down, the least we can expect is that such things will be tolerated to a greater extent than is supposed to be the case under the rules of so-called civilized warfare. In many of the low-intensity conflicts currently being waged in developing countries this is already true, and has, indeed, always been true.

 - Martin van Creveld The Transformation of War, •O- •> ^ The Council Chamber was colorful, and for the moment buzzing with informal chatter. Most seats at the big conference table were taken. The conspicuous exceptions were the cabinet secretary's console at one end, and a single large arm chair at the center. The War Cabinet was already at the table. Rear Admiral Samuel Forrest, as senior Naval officer, sat between Generals Owensford and Slater, the deep midnight blue of his Navy tunic contrasting with the more colorful army garrison uniforms. Madame Elayne Rusher, the  jerry PoumeHe iy S M Stirling Attorney General, was next to General Lawrence Desjardins, Chief of the Royal Spartan Mounted Police.

Roland Dawson, Principal Secretary of State, chatted with Lord Henry Yamaga, Secretary of State for the Interior and Industrial Development. Eric Respari of Finance listened to them with a sour expression.

Everyone knew that Respari had been an avid student of the late King Jason's economics theories; now he resembled the Freedman King in expression as well. Sir Alfred Nathanson, called Minister of War even though his office was administrative rather than part of the chain of command, was hard at work on his notebook computer. At the far end of the table Dr. Caldwell Whitiock sat alone. He had been invited by Prince Lysander, and if some of the regular members of the War Cabinet resented his presence, none of them were going to say so, especially not today.

 In addition to me principal officers at the conference table, another dozen chairs along the walls were filled with experts: Legion Captains Jesus and Catherine Alana, Alan Hruska, the Milice chief for Sparta City; Spartan and Rrotherhood military; Legion officers; civilian officials, most carrying notebook computers.

 The room fell silent as Horace Plummer, Secretary to the Cabinet, came into the conference chamber and stood just inside the door. "My lords, ladies, gentlemen, His Highness Crown Pnnce Lysander, Master of the Forces by order of the Kings acting under the Ultimate Decree of the Senate of Sparta." Everyone stood. The military acted from habit, as perhaps did some of the others, but some were reacting to the solemn formality ofPlummer's announcement.

 Lysander wore the military uniform of an officer of the Royals but with no insignia of rank. He looked older than his years as he took his place at the center of the big conference table. There was only one chair   there. Previously there had always been two, and Lysander had sat across from them, where General Owensford was now. Lysander nodded pleasantly to everyone, but took his seat in silence. After a moment the others sat down as well.

 "The agenda is on your screens," Plummer said.

 "With his Highness's permission," Roland Dawson said, "the agenda will endure a brief wait. We understand there is good news from St. Thomas's."

 Lysander frowned for a moment, then suddenly his smile returned, as if he had remembered to wear it again. "Thank you. Yes, very good news indeed. Graffin Melissa is recovering well."

 "Well enough to have enjoyed a brief visit to the Palace last evening. Her father mentioned it this morning. And, Highness, I have heard that we may have better news shortly," Dawson continued relentlessly. The Principal Secretary of State was the leader of the majority party in the Senate, and by definition a politician, and not even the Ultimate Decree would change that. "I understand the Queen is consulting the Archbishop to reschedule the wedding. I understand and appreciate that Your Highness would prefer this to remain a private matter, but the Citizens will be overjoyed at the news, and I ask permission to make the announcement."

 Lysander looked around the room at the eager faces. Even the dour finance minister was smiling agreement with Dawson.

 "lime we had some good news to announce,"

Elayne Rusher said.

 The Citizens will certainly want to celebrate," Sir Alfred Nathanson said.

 Lysander nodded. "I expect you're right. I'll leave the details to you, then. Now - and thank you, Roland - Mr. Plummer, if we can get back to the agenda?"

 "Item One. A report from the military field commands," Horace Plummer said. "General Owensford."

 "Highness. My lords and ladies. You've seen the overall figures, and the rest are in the conference room computer. I can summarize in two words. We're winning."

 'Thank God," Roland Dawson said. The Principal Secretary of State mopped his brow with an already damp handkerchief. "How soon do you think this will be over?"

 "Not as soon as you'd like, I'm afraid," Peter Owensford said. '"We're stretched pretty thin, no reserves to speak of- Nearly everything we've got has been thrown into the two campaigns, the Stora pursuit, and the reduction of their main base. We're winning, but it isn't all that easy, there are complications. Full details are in the reports on your consoles there.

Unfortunately, I must ask you not to remove electronic copies of those reports from this room. We know the computers here are clean, and they have no physical connection whatever to any other system."

 "General?"

 "General Desjardins?"

 "Does this mean we still can't rely on our computer systems?"

 "Correct," Owensford said. "We captured a fair number of Helot technicians in training at Base One, and we've learned a lot from them. Murasalds people were deeper into our computer systems than I would have imagined. We learned that much mostly by inference and skilled questioning of Helot officers and trainees." Peter Owensford nodded acknowledgment to the Captains Alana. They smiled briefly. Both looked both overworked and triumphant.

 "Unfortunately, we didn't get a single live technoninja," Owensford said. 'The four we did   apprehend were dead when captured, or died before they could be drugged. Interestingly there was one already dead, killed by torture, apparently by Helot experts. No one seems to know anything about that, unless Captain Alana has learned something since I last spoke with him. Yes, Jesus?"

 "We have one Helot officer who said the execution was personally ordered by Field Prime, as punishment for failures during the Stora Mines operation," Jesus Alana said. "Apparently this was demanded by the senior survivors of the Stora Commando. They felt they had been betrayed, and someone should be punished"

 "So," Lysander said. "The vipers are tanging each other,"

 "So it would appear, Highness," Owensford said.

"We're beginning to see fair numbers of defecting officers. Especially in the Stora Commando group, where we got a colonel, one Hamish Beshara, code name Ben Bella. Incidentally, his spetsnaz brigade commander was our friend Niles." Owensford stopped- Prince Lysander's face had frozen into a mask of hate. "Ben Bella had nothing to do with the missile attack, Highness. Jesus?"

 "No, my prince. To the best of my skills, no one we have captured had any notion that the missile would be used against a non-military target. Colonel Ben Bella thought its purpose was to destroy the geo-thermal generating system if, as happened, the sabotage effort failed." Jesus shrugged. "I am certain I could find evidence to convict him of wanton destruction of civilian property, but I would not care to argue the case in a CoDominium court martial. Especially since the man surrendered on promise of amnesty for all except deliberate atrocities. He has a different conception of atrocity than we, but he is convinced he committed  ferry Poumette S M Stirbng none - and that the missile attack was an atrocity He insists that he would not have allowed that had he known, and while I m ay doubt he would have risked his life to prevent it, it is certain he believes he would have."

 "Which brings us to a decision item," Owensford said when Lysander didn't answer. "We have captured a number of Helot soldiers, and in the base camp we took prisoner other rebels. The Helots have no conception of non-combatant status. All their membership are rebels, and would be expected to fight. They are nearly all armed, and some of their women and children were killed bearing arms against our forces. Others threw away their weapons. In any case it is difficult to think of a ten year old child as an armed enemy."

 "Nits make lice," someone said.

 Owensford frowned. 'That has been said in every revolutionary war in history," he said. "And it's no more appropriate here than it was in Palestine or Kurdistan. Your Highness, we will need policies and procedures. What shall we do with captured Helot soldiers and their non-military adherents?"

 "We can't just let them go," Yamaga said. 'They won't work. They wouldn't work before they became Helots, and they won't work now, and now they've got a taste for rebellion. And training with weapons. Let them loose and they'll turn criminals even if they don't rejoin the rebellion."

 "They have to be taught to work," Madame Rusher said. "Work habits."

 "Arbeit macht frei," General Desjardins said. "A much abused slogan, but I believe Madame Elayne has the essence of it. They must become convinced that work is a better alternative than banditry."

 "We can use some of the soldiers in expeditionary forces," Hal Slater said. "And the Leg?on. But that requires transportation. I can't think we want them armed and at large on Sparta until they've been obedient for a few years." He chuckled. "Pity we can't make them involuntary colonists to somewhere else.

Send them to Byer's and let them try the criminal life in Hell's-a-comin'-"

 "Now there's a thought," Yamaga said. "Pity indeed we can't do that."

 "But the question is, what do we do with them now?" Owensford said. "We've got the island camps.

The Legion training program worked all right. Last time we had transport we shipped over five hundred retrained Helots to reinforce Falkenberg on New Washington, and last I heard they were doing well enough- Of course that's the cream of the crop, the ones with enough gumption to stick it."

 "You sent back a thousand more who'd volunteered and couldn't finish your course," Sir Alfred Nathanson said. "And they're something of a problem. For the moment we've been able to keep order on the Island, even have them growing their own crops. But we can't maintain concentration camps like that forever!"

 "Bit of a mess for the Coast Guard," General Desjardins said. "We've been worried that the Helots would try to rescue those people So far the only reason they haven't has been the physical isolation, but we're using resources I'd like to put to other uses. We lose a few of those wet navy craft and all those Helot soldiers are available to the rebellion again."

 *We can't just shoot them," Elayne Rusher said.

 "No, Madam," Finance Minister Respari agreed.

"Leave aside the ethics, none of the others would ever surrender if we did that. General, Sir Alfred, I'm afraid your island camps are the only solution we have. And the camps are cheaper than the war, by a lot."

 "Actually, there are two problems," Yamaga said.

'There are the prisoners of war, of course. And although we can't send off the criminals as colonists to a pleasant place like Hell's-a-comin', the CoDominium keeps dumping involuntary colonists on us. I grant you they're not quite the same situation, some of the new colonists fit in well enough, but all too many are nearly as much trouble as rebels." He shrugged. "And for a lot of them it's only a question of time before they go from being useless mouths to joining the rebellion and killing our people. Bread and circuses, that's what they want."

 "Every democracy in history has wanted bread and circuses," Roland Dawson said. "Not our party, of course, but there are Citizen groups who'd rather try bread and circuses than continue the war."

 "Danegeld," Hal Slater said. "Never a very wise thing to give anyone, certainly not to criminals."

 "It is not what they will get," Lysander said. His voice was low, but the room became quiet when he spoke.

"Build that kind of welfare state and we corrupt our own people. This government will not pay people to be poor, nor will we set up paid officials with an incentive to have poor and idle clients. General Desjardins, I take it your RSMP doesn't find Island duty pleasant." "They hate it. Highness- So would you."

 "I expect I would. Let me point out that there are advantages to this. No one wants to make a career of administering the camps, so there is no one who has a good reason to retain those camps if we find a better solution."

 "No one I'd want in the RSMP," Desjardins sniffed.

 "Keep it that way," Lysander said. 'Too many nations have destroyed themselves by allowing potentially fatal changes to their institutions as an expedient for winning wars or settling domestic crises.

Every institution you build has people who want to keep on doing what they do. It's the nature of government, to build enduring institutions, structures that stay long after their purpose is over. If you pay people to help the poor. you have people who won't be paid if there aren't any poor, so they'll be sure to find some. Sparta was created as the antithesis of that kind of welfare state, and by God it will stay that way. I'd rather lose the war than change that."

 There were mutters of agreement around the table.

 "Hear, hear," Whitiock said.

 "That's clear, then," Lysander said. "Now let me point out that when we win this war we will have far more Helot prisoners, some of them genuine war criminals."

 "Hang them," Desjardins said.

 "Those we can convict of atrocities, certainly. But how many will that be?"

 "Rome crucified a rebel at every milepost from Vesuvius to Rome after the Spartacus rebellion,"

Madame Rusher said. 'That's what? No more than a thousand, surely, and it's remembered to this day. I suppose if we top that we'll get a place in the history books, but I'm not sure it's a place we want."

 "Nor I," Lysander said. "I'm not sure what to do with those merely swept up in the rebellion, but there's a simple solution to what to do with the active participants in the rebel cause. They wanted to try the barbarian life. I propose to give them their wish. Turn them loose on the island. Wolf Island. They get hand tools, seeds, and a few farm animals. No weapons, and no technology. If they dont work, they starve. After a few years the survivors can try to negotiate a better deal."

 "Stark," Roland Dawson said.

 "It's better than they planned for us," Lysander said.

"Sir Alfred, this will be your concern. Please see to it."

 "Yes, Highness."

 "Sir?"

 "Admiral Forrest."

 "This is my first cabinet meeting. I'm not certain of the procedure," Forrest said "We're fairly informal, Admiral," Lysander said. "If you believe you have something we should know that's relevant to the discussion, it's quite proper to speak up."

 "Yes, sir. I was going to say, the news from me CoDominium is confusing and contradictory. Rumors of mutinies in the fleet. Ships beached for lack of money to repair and fuel them. Stories of rivalries, along with official documents that don't acknowledge that there's anything unusual happening at all. One thing is certain, the BuReloc transport is overdue. It may be that we won't be getting so many involuntary colonists."

 "A consummation devoutly to be wished," Hal Slater said carefully. "I hear much the same as Admiral Forrest. "Hie CD's having trouble finding enough money to operate all their ships. It's probable we won't have as much trouble with involuntary colonists as we thought we would."

 "Or mat it will all happen at once, with a number of ships coming simultaneously," Lysander said. "But thank you for bringing that up. I presume everyone here knows that Admiral Forrest has persuaded the local CoDominium Fleet Commander to safeguard our observation and communications satellite. We're told mat they're also intercepting the clandestine arms shipments to the rebels."

 "We very much owe Admiral Forrest a vote of thanks," Elayne Rusher said.

 "Indeed," Lysander said. 'Those Fang missiles could have been a lot of trouble. Still can be, but at least there aren't infinite supplies of them coming in.

And the other high tech gear. From all of us, and from me personally, Admiral, thank you. We won't forget."

 'Thank you. Highness," Forrest said. "Of course I had considerable help from Dr. Whitlock. He can be extremely persuasive."

 "Well, thank you," Whidock said. "Most important thing is to convince the local CD people they'll be better off with us as a strong and peaceful place to call home, and the best arguments for that are Admiral Forrest and Captain Nosov."

 Lysander nodded agreement. "General Owensford, please continue your report."

 "Yes, Highness," Owensford said. "As I said earlier.

we're winning. The renewed satelhte pictures have been extremely useful, especially in the pursuit of their northern group, the force they called the Stora Commando group. I am pleased to report that the Stora Commando is no longer a threat to anyone. For a while they retreated in an organized and disciplined manner. That gave General Barton a lot of trouble, but shortly after the Ultimate Decree they became little more than disorganized stragglers.

 'The change was sudden and dramatic. We have since learned that most of their leadership was evacuated, leaving the rest on their own, which was pretty demoralizing when the word spread among them.

Many who hadn't taken a personal part in atrocities surrendered very soon after that. The rest are disorganized, mostly city punks in the wilderness, relentlessly pursued by outdoorsmen who enjoy their work. You could almost feel sorry for them."

 "No you couldn't," Lysander said. 'They demanded their rights. They'll get justice. How many criminals have we caught?"

 "Not so many as I'd like, because of course the ones we could prove to be war criminals don't surrender.

On the other hand, over six hundred have accepted the amnesty. Of those, nine were easily proven to be war criminals, thirty-four probably are, and four were traitors, actual Citizen supporters of the rebels."

 "Probably," Roland Dawson said. "What means probable, given your - techniques?"

 Jesus Alana shrugged. "It is expensive and time consuming to question every captive," he said. "And are we so certain we want the answers? If we know someone is guilty of war crimes, we must make a decision as to what to do with him."

 "What happened to the Citizens?" Lysander demanded.

 The traitors are in the Capital prison. Highness, awaiting Their Majesties' pleasure. Oryours," Owensford said. The/re a different case. The Helot soldiers we let go to the Island after interrogation, but we know who they are if we really want to find them again."

 "Mutilation," one of the Brotherhood intelligence officers said. "We should chop off a finger. Or toes.

Make it a lot easier to find them again."

 Lysander didn't answer, and there was an awkward silence. "It's much the same around their Base Camp," Owensford said at last. "Better organized, but most of their leadership has bugged out. The troops left behind were supposed to sell their lives dearly. Some did, but it's beginning to sink in that they're fighting for a lost and dreary cause, and leaders who've run away. Once again we're seeing both individuals and organized groups looking for amnesty. Others have scattered into the wastelands, but this time with not much more than they can carry." Owensford shrugged. "Frankly, I'd rather be on the Island than on the run. Better soil, and I wouldn't have to worry that Mace's Scouts were looking for me."

 "But we still haven't caught their leaders."

 "Other than Croser and his Capital gang, no."

 "General, every one of them seems to believe Skilly has a plan," Lysander said. "Do we have any notion of what it is?"

 "No, sir."

 "I keep remembering the Dales," Lysander said"Where they had a plan that couldn't possibly work, only it very nearly did, because we certainly were not expecting poison gas. Captain Alana, you saw through that one just in time. What can they be planning now?"

 "I confess to thinking much on that subject," Jesus Alana said. "Alas, my prince, with little result. Nor has Catherine been more successful."

 "We're winning, but they're not giving up- Not trying to make terms," Lysander said. "I take that to mean they still believe they can win."

 "Clearly," Hal Slater said.

 "But they're losing Losing badly. There's no way they can win."

 "Well," Owensford said. "Perhaps. We can hope so, but in any event there is one thing I must remind you of. Highness. It may or may not have anything to do with Skilly, but its clear that every gain we have made could be wiped out by the CoDominium. Give the Helots enough off-planet support and we wouldn't be winning any longer "

 "Admiral, is this likely?"

 "No," Forrest said. "Likely, no. But of course it's possible."

 "Some day," Lysander said, but he said it so softly that Peter Owensford didn't think anyone else had heard.

 ^ CHAPTER FIFTEEN Crofton's Encyclopedia of the Inhabited Planets (nd Edition): Corinth: Town at the head of the Corint/iian Guff, (q.v.), a long ( kilometer), funnel-shaped inlet on the northeastern portion of the Serpentine Continent. Corinth, founded by settlers from New Newfoundland in , is primarily a collection point for nearby ranches and a fishing-base. The Corinthian Gulf, with its deep and nutrient-rich waters, is a spawning-ground for several important species of large piscoid hunted for their leather, oil and pharmaceutical derivatives; among these are the Mammoth Daisy, the Tennisnet and the CaSeybeak. Galleybeak caviar is noted as a delicacy on several planets, having an exotic flavor and mild stimulant and euphoric qualities. Tenmsnet glands are processed for a well-known anti obesity drug. Corinth's facilities include deep water docks, small-scale ship repair facilities, warehouses and marine processing plants. Population (), , not including transients.

 -- ^ -V Another characteristic of the year , familiar to those who will have lived through the last quarter of the th Century, is that most of the world's tow-intensity conflict will probably be insurgencies- Terrorism, in and of itself, is a weak reed when it comes to effecting political changes. On the other hand, governments have been brought down by insurgents...

 One aspect of insurgency that promises to be a bit different in the year has to do with a shift in demography. The continued movement of Third World populations to cities makes it probable that urban underground organizations will constitute a growing percentage of insurgent movements...

 -Bod Paschal!

LIC : Special Operations and Unconventional Warfare in the Next Century (Institute ofLand Warfare, Association of the US Army, ) ^ ^ ^ Geoffrey Niles woke at the sound of voices, but from long habit he lay still, eyes closed, as if still asleep. It was a habit developed at school to avoid persecution by older boys, but mis time it saved him from far worse. He lay still and thought about where he was.

 They were in the ranch house of a farm Skilly had bought years before. The nominal owners were a couple Skilly had found in the slums of Minetown. As usual her instinct for choosing the right people served her well; Hildy and Rose Wheeler had quietly tended the farm, increasing its value and drawing no attention to themselves, quiet non-Citizen farmers who ignored politics like many in this Corinthian district a thousand kilometers northeast of the Capital. Yet when Skilly had appeared, nearly alone and on the run, they were eager to help. Geoff had been amazed at the facilities they had quietly built up in a cave driven into the cliffs behind the ranch house. Offices, storage for weapons, residence, all waiting until Sidda Thibodeau should need mem.

 They could relax here. Back in Sparta City they'd been in a different house every night, welcome in some, grudgingly accepted in others, uatiy refused admission twice, and always afraid of betrayal even by those who seemed gladdest to see them. It had been an enormous relief to leave the capital even though that required traveling in disguise on the public rail system. Skilly had a dozen disguises, papers, business travel documents, and they'd needed them. In this time of the Ultimate Decree it wasnt enough just to buy a ticket and get on a train. You had to convince the police that you had a legitimate reason for travel, and they wrote it all down to be fed to the computer system. But they'd got here, safe for me first time in weeks....

 He was alone in the big bed. Skilly, dressed in a tee shirt and nothing else. sat at her communications console. She had the speaker volume low and spoke softly as if trying not to awaken him, but Niles wondered why she didn't use the headset if that was what she really wanted. For that matter there was a console in the next room.

 Testing? he wondered. She had done a lot of that since the Stora incident. She still didn't trust him completely. That was close. I could have got myself killed, and for nothing, there was nothing I could do, nothing at aB.. He shuddered at the memory, Skall/s cold laugh as she launched the missile, the impersonal way she looked at the results. The worst was when she told him later that he'd been right, it hadn't been such a good idea after all. "Should have listened to my Jefiy. sometimes he got good instincts." No remorse except that it hadn't worked as she intended. And she sttU thinks to found a dynasty. My God, I've got to get out of here.

He'd thought that many times since the Stora campaign, but there was no place to go. The Royals would cheerfully hang him if they could catch him, and the only places he knew to hide from the Royals were controlled by Skilly He lay still and listened. Skilly was talking to someone, and she wasn't happy at all. "You supposed to be working for Skilly," she said.

 "My sincere apologies. I am afraid my employer neglected to tell me mat" Skilly had the volume set low, and the voice was very low and quiet, so that Niles barely heard it, but he was certain that it was Murasald.

"I was told to consider your interests, as well as those of Capital Prime, but not to the neglect of my primary mission. Indeed, now that Capital Prime is regrettably detained, it is not certain that your interests and my employers are the same."

 "Why you say that?"

 "Let us say that my employer had known Capital Prime for many years, and thus understood him. He has never met you. Alas, while I have great admiration for your talents as a leader, a bald narrative of events does little to justify that to someone who does not know you well- All due to bad luck and misfortune, of course, but it does not appear that you have enjoyed great success."

 "Skilly told Capital Prime it was time to go underground," Skilly said- "But Capital Prime trusted you to warn him in time. Not Skilly's doing."

 "Ah, no, of course not," Murasaki said. "But perhaps had you more thoroughly considered the implications of your use of our earth penetrator? Capturing the mine and its town was a boldly conceived goal, admirable in concept, possibly decisive if combined with suitable political strategy. The CoDominium will often act to aid an actual government in possession of territory. Using the earth penetrator as a means of bringing the Stora garrison to battle on favorable ground was also an admirably bold notion. Alas, it did not have the proper effect."

 'That bad luck too," Skilly said. "You don' tell me that Prince Baby is up there. Everything fine until he rallies the troops, make them go back to their holes and organize. That Prince one real piece of bad luck.

Best we loll that one. Him and that whole group of his.

He put a price on my head, I put one on his. You kill him, now."

 "Ah, I was under the impression that you were thoroughly aware that Prince Lysander had gone north. My mistake. As to his demise, this is not so easily accomplished as it would have been earlier," Murasald said. 'The Royals are, after all, very much alerted."

 They still meet sometimes," Skilly said. "Report to   the Senate. Broadcast to the people." She looked around, but Geoffrey Niles had never opened his eyes fully, and she saw him apparently still asleep. Her voice fell even lower, so that Geoff didn't hear all of what she said next. "... whole damn place while they in it."

 "There are few reliable ways to accomplish that."

 "One sure one."

 "I had thought you were opposed to using that."

 "Skilly not Hke it, because it cause trouble for the future. But right now. maybe she don't got a future unless something drastic happens."

 "That is of course most unfortunate," Murasald said.

"But I have only the one device, and there is some question of where to use it. Indeed, you have been persuasive in arguing against using it at all. Certainly it will greatly upset the CoDominium elements, and it is never wise to do that without powerful reasons."

 "Yeah, I understand that," Skilly said. "But think, you don' do something soon, Skilly facing the ugly, ugly jaws of defeat,"

 "No one understands that better than me," the soft voice said. "But we have sent you vast resources, and I fear we have very little to show for all that huge expenditure. We have embarrassed the Legion, but it seems to have survived the experience, perhaps did not even notice. The Royal Government is stronger than ever. I regret I must point this out, but you do not seem to have much to offer now. Have you established control over the politicals in Sparta City?"

 "Yes."

 Geoff suppressed a shudder. Regaining control of die political apparatus after the mass arrests following the Ultimate Decree had been a nightmare. There had to be secure cutouts, discontinuities in the command structure, or the entire apparatus would have fallen in   the first hours; but once the known leaders were removed, making contact with those remaining was extremely difficult, and proving that you were entitled to give them orders, and that they should continue the fight, was more difficult still. Niles's admiration for Skilly had increased enormously, but his horror at her methods had grown equally. Her energy was boundless, and she had set up a number of contingency plans just in case this happened. She was particularly skilled at blackmail, and she had enough evidence to hang most of the political leadership three times over. And one of those who had refused to take her in was found the next day with his testicles stuffed into his eye sockets.

 So we haw control of the politicals. It takes a lot of personal contact to do it, and we can't do that easily because Skilly insists on moving from place to place all the time. Afraid someone will try to collect the bounty, I suppose. I wonder how long she'U stay here? It's safe here, but she's not getting much done.

 "You blow de Palace when the government is all there," Skilly said- "Give Skilly a week warning, hell, six hours, and it'll be all over, Skilly will own this place. No Kings, no Senate, no government Just the organization."

 "Well, it is a possibility to consider," Murasald said.

"But I think we first stay with the original plan. Let us see what that will accomplish before we attempt your way. If that fails, perhaps there is another."

 "You just be sure to give Skilly notice first. Those politicals not so easy to control, not trained troops. Maybe both together? Between CD and your stuff, we knock out the government. Skilly does the rest. We take over the Capital, we win, andwe only gottowin once...."

^ <• -fr The girl was about twenty, and she had been pretty in an unsophisticated way. Now her hair had been cut off with a bayonet, her swollen lips oozed blood, and she was missing at least one tooth. The nose was swollen as well, probably broken, one eye was black, and there were other bruises, particularly on her thighs.

She was sprawled naked across a couch, and one of the Helot soldiers was fastening his trousers.

 Geoffrey Niles looked at the scene with distaste.

"Seems a bit of a waste," he said. Soldiers. Warriors. My Cod. First the Lefkowitz ffrl. those pictures! Pictures sent to Luna Base and every mercenary outfit registered with the CD, and they stiU don't learn, they think they're going to win and then they can make the rules. Rules! And everyone knows myfasmly is associated with this.

 "Waste, Brigade Leader? We're supposed to kill her, but there wasn't nothing said about not having some fun first"

 Niles shook his head. "Odd notions of fun. In any event, I need confirmation of some information she probably has. Get her dressed- I'll bring her back when I'm through."

 "They say she don't know nothing. The Legion types never told her anything much, she's no use," the Company Leader said. He finished fastening his trousers and grinned. "Course it depends on what you want to use her for, but being as what you're gettin', you sure don't need any of this,"

 Niles's look silenced him. 'There are things we have to know. People she's seen, map locations. They weren't supposed to give her to you until we were finished. Just get her cfothes. Can you dress yourself?"

he asked the girl.

 "Yeah." Her voice was distorted.

 Then do so."

 She lay still for a moment. The Helot officer smashed his hand across her mouth. "You call him sir, and you do what he says now, bitch."

 PBINCE OF SPARTA  She pulled herself into a sitting position with an obvious effort. Niles watched as the girl pulled on trousers and a shirt. She had no underwear, and Niles wondered if it had been destroyed in the process of undressing her. Her only shoes were boots, and he waited for her to get those on. Although she moved slowly and carefully, nothing seemed to be broken. As she finished with her boots, Niles swiftly lifted her to her feet, pulled her hands behind her, and snapped on handcuffs. "Do you want her back?" he asked.

 "Well, it might be fun to have her again before we kill her."

 "We'll see. If she cooperates with us. All right - Talkins, isn't it? Come along." He pushed her out into the corridor of the cave.

 "Watch her," the Helot called. "She bites. Or did.

Taught her not to do that."

 The passage led to cellars of the farmhouse, but halfway along it was a side passage. Niles opened that door, pushed Margreta Talkins through and followed her, carefully closing it behind him. "All right," he said.

"In a minute I'm going to take those cuffs off, but I want you to be sure you understand what's happening."

 "And what's that?" Margreta s speech was slurred by her swollen lips. She spat blood.

 "We're getting the hell out of here," Niles said.

 Her eyes widened. "We. Why?"

 "Look, we don't have a tot of time," Niles said. "I want to surrender to the Royals, and I need bargaining chips. You're one of them. Now we have about an hour, maybe two, before Skilly calls in asking for me, and as long after that as it takes for her to figure out what's happened. By that time we'd better be a hell of a long way from here. Can you run?"

 "A little. I'm pretty bruised. If I'd known I'd have to run, I wouldn't have fought so hard."

 "Look, I'm sony."

 "Yeah. It could have been worse. All right, I*U try to keep up. Look, I don't know what's going to happen, but do me this, don't let them get me alive again, all right? OK, let's go."

 "All right, we can stop for a few minutes." Niles said. 'Tve got some domes and equipment stashed under the rocks here. We'll take five minutes to let you change. 'Hiere are weapons here, too."

 She stumbled forward and sat heavily. "I guess I'm not in as good shape as I thought."

 "How'd they catch you?"

 "I think they were always on to me," Margreta Talkins said. "At least since Craffin Melissa lived through that assassination attempt. They were pretty sure I couTd have killed her. Ever since I think they've just been using me to pass false information back to the Legion. The last thing they did was send me on a wild goose chase, so I'd give the wrong story about where they were hiding. I really thought I'd located Skilly, and getting that information out was worth anything. I guess they'd decided I wasn't anymore use, because thatwas a setup."

 Niles lifted a flat rock. "Here we are. Canteens, to beg?n with. Water or whiskey?"

 "Water- Whiskey would be great at first, but I don't think it will help for long." She drank deeply. "Let me have the whiskey," she said suddenly Niles handed the other canteen to her. She took a sip and gargled heavily, then spat it out. "That helps. Now if you'll hand me that bandanna and look the other way-" She laughed. "Or dont, Jesus, you'd Ulink I'd be over any kind of modesty."

 Geoff fished in the crevice under the rock, carefully not looking at her.

 "Ow. That stings," she said. "I don't suppose you've got some milder form of disinfectant?"

  "No. I do have some more clothes. Including underwear. Jockey shorts, a bit large for you, but better than nothing." He held them out behind him and felt her take them. "And some clean trousers and shirt. I made this cache when I heard they were bringing in a Legion prisoner, but I didn't know you'd be a giri."

 "Girl," Margreta said. "Lord. man, if this hasn't made a woman of me, nothing will. But thanks. I think. You still haven't explained what this is all about"

 "Actually, I did. I want out. Out of all this. Amnesty and a ticket off Sparta."

 "Look, we both know I'm not worth that much, not if you were part of anything serious."

 "I wasn't. Not Lefkowitz, not Stora. I was in the Dales, poison gas, technically a violation of the Laws of War, but that was against military targets."

 "And the anthrax?"

 "Anthrax?" Geoff said "No, I didn't know about that."

 "They used it. Ruined a whole farm valley. Look, I still don't see where I come in "

 "You can talk to them. I know some things they will want to know," Geoff said- "But if they shoot me before I can tell them that, it won't do anyone any good. You they'll listen to, and I presume you have ways to make contact with the Legion. They might even provide you transportation."

 "Sure, if you get me to a telephone. All right, you can turn around now. And thanks for turning your back."

 She looked better, but still awful. He found a bandanna and wet it from the water canteen, then added a dash of whiskey. "Hold still, I'll clean your face And here's a comb."

 "If you have a mirror-"

 "I do, but let me clean you up a bit first."

 "Oh.Tliatbad?"

 She tried to laugh, but he could see tears at the comers of her eyes. He wiped off the worst of the dried blood and semen from her face. It was hard to do without hurting her, and he winced as badly as she did when he had to touch some other bruises.

 "There were four of them," she said. "One managed twice."

 "MissTalldns-* "I think under the circumstances. Brigade Leader Niles, you may call me Margreta," she said solemnly.

 "Margreta. Jesus, I'm sorry, Margreta. Uh - and I'm Geoffrey or Geoff, of course."

 "Not Jetty?"

 "My God no, never again. Speaking of which." He held up a mini-uzi. "The moment of truth. I'm going to give you this now. If you want to shoot me in retaliation for what they did to you, please make it quick. I deserve that much. Margreta, I'm very sorry they did this to you^ and if I could have prevented it I would have, but there was nothing I could do. God damn it! It was like Stora, nothing I could do! I could get lolled and it still wouldn't have changed anything! They'd have shot me and the rocket would have gone on schedule, and the same thing with you, until Stdlly left I couldn't interfere with- Sorry. You're the one who was hurt, and I'm shouting about it."

 She didn't say anything. After a moment, Geoff handed her the machine pistol. He stood and watched as she checked the loads. 'They're not blanks," he said. "I'd invite you to fire a few rounds, but it might attract unwanted attention."

 "I'm not going to shoot you," she said. "Back there in the cave I would have, you and them and then myself.

but - Gooff, are we really going to get away?"

 "I surely hope so. Now, how much of this can you carry? We still don't have a lot of time. And I hope your Legion people think enough of you to come get you."

 "So do I. All right, find me that telephone."

"Oh, that's no problem. I have a communicator,"

 Geoff said. "All we have to do is get to a place where it's safe to use it"

 "Lets go, then," she said. She sounded very small and vulnerable, and Geoff Niles had never hated the war so much. He took her hand to lead her, and after a moment she let him.

 <- CHAPTER SIXTEEN The advantage which a commander thinks he can attain through continued personal intervention is largely illusory. By engaging in it he assumes a task which really belongs to others, whose effectiveness he thus destroys. He also multiplies his own tasks to a point where he can no longer fulfill the whole of them.

 - Hetmuth von Moltke <• - -O Crofton's Encyclopedia of Contemporary History and Social Issues (rd Edition): The Bani The proudest achievement of the CoDominium era was the near absence of employment of nuclear weapons in an era of nuclear plenty. The one issue that united the Fleet, from the lowest Une Marine recruit to the Grand Admiral was insistence that the Fleet and only the Fleet had the right to possess nuclear weapons, and only the Fleet could use them: and it would not do so except under nuclear threat. Not even the Grand Senate could order nuclear bombardment.

 Nuclear weapons remained a theoretical last resort to the Fleet no matter what the opposition, but the only times they were ever used was in retaliation for first use by others; on those occasions the vengeance of the CoDominium Navy could be terrible...

 •^ •" The Royal Messenger had a grim expression. "General Owensford, Prince Lysanders compliments, and can you come to the war room right away."

 "Certainly," Peter said. Something in the Messengers tone made him send for his chief of staff.

 He was almost finished dressing when Andy Lahr came in. "Trouble at Fort Plataia. Good morning, sir."

 Trouble?"

 "There's a CoDominium squad at the gate, with an official order that no one is to enter or leave the Fort without CoDominium permission."

 "Jesus Christ. What did Captain Alana do?"

"Nothing," Lahr said. "Didn't acknowledge, pending orders, but he has told everyone to stay inside, and put the Fort on alert."

 "Sounds good. Tell him to hang onto that until I know what's going on."

 "Already did. You got any idea of what's going on?"

"No, but I expect I'm about to find out."

Both Kings and Prince Lysander were in the war room.

 "Good morning." Peter bowed. "This looks serious."

"It is," Alexander said- He held out a document. "This appears to be authentic," he said. "It's an order from the CoDominium Sector Headquarters, in the name of Vice Admiral Townsend but actually signed by General Nguyen. Sparta is directed to surrender all units of Falkenbergs Mercenary Legion to the CoDominium, for transport from Sparta to a neutral world to be agreed to after the Legion units are disarmed and embarked."

 "I see. That's ridiculous," Peter said. "It's invalid on its face. Vice Admiral Townsend hasn't that authority, and certainly no Marine general acting in the admiral's name does! For that matter, the CoDominium hasn't the authority to order you to do any such thing, even if it's enacted by the Grand Senate."

 "They may not have the authority," King Alexander said, "but they have the power. They brought a battlecruiser and a troop transport with a regiment of Line Marines. The Marines are to be stationed on Sparta ostensibly to protect our independence from foreign invaders -which means you. You're to be taken offplanet in the troop transport."

 "What does Clay Newell have to say about this? Or Commodore Guildford for that matter? He's a trimmer. If he obeys this order he's thoroughly committed to Bronson and he knows it. I can't think he wants that"

 "We don't know," Alexander said. "I've sent for Admiral Forrest The whole War Cabinet and Privy Council. But the fact is, we've been unable to talk to anyone in CoDominium headquarters except this newcomer, a Colonel Ciotti. who is coming here shortly to present his demands. His regiment is landing now. They didn't ask permission, they sent us a courtesy information, and that after they'd landed the lead elements."

 "There's more," l^sander said. "We're also directed to cease all fraternization with CoDominium personnel, and dismiss from our service any CD officers who retired less than five years ago. Some new regulation. Henceforth all communications with CoDominium personnel are to be official business through the proper channels, and no informal contacts allowed. A full interdict is laid on Sparta until we -"

he found a place on the paper he was holding and read "- demonstrate good faith efforts to comply with the directives in paragraph two, to wit, to disarm and surrender to me proper CoDominium authorities all persons at present enrolled in or in the direct employ of the organization known as Faikenberg's Mercenary Legion, sometimes known as the Forty-Second, and paragraph three relative to fraternization and employment of retired CD officials. All CoDominium Marine units stationed on Sparta are directed to cooperate in enforcement of these orders."

 'This can't last," Peter said. 'When Lermontov hears about this, he'll rescind it."

 "And by then Sparta City may be a battlefield," King David said. "I don't even know how to send a message to Grand Admiral Lermontov. They seem to have blocked all our communications. Nothing acknowledges."

 "Is our satellite still working?" Peter asked.

"Interesting question," Lysander said. He lifted the phone and spoke briefly, then set it down with a puzzled look. "Yes. Which must mean something, but I'm damned if I can figure what."

 "Maybe Forrest will have a suggestion," Peter Owensford said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll have to inform Commandant Campbeil at Fort Plataia."

 "Interesting that you named it that," Lysander said.

"Yes, sir." Plataia was the site of a major Spartan victory over Persia, the place where Thermopylae was avenged, but it was also a city: an Athenian ally, under the protection of Athens. A faithful ally And was destroyed when the Athenians refused to come to its aid. And how much of that story does Lysander know? "It seemed like a good idea at the time. If you'll excuse me?"

 •<• <• -o "Sir, I have my orders," Marco Qotti said.

The colonel of the th CoDominium Marines was a weathered man in his forties, with a blue-joweled aquiline face and eyes black enough that the pupils disappeared in them. His skin was pale from time under a faint sun, and he looked comfortable enough under Spartan gravity. But not comfortable at all with this final conference in the Palace audience chamber overlooking Government House Square. He stood at the end of the Council Chamber, facing the kings and their advisors. "I'm not supposed to even talk to you while you're employing CoDominium people in your armed services." He indicated Admiral Forrest and Captain Nosov. "I'll use my judgment on that, but I don't have any choice about the Legion. Faikenberg's Legion will disarm and surrender, and there aren't any alternatives."

 David Freedman looked withering contempt at the CoDominium colonel. "You have no alternatives,"

King David said. "When a stupid man is doing something he knows is wrong, he always claims it is his duty."

 "It may surprise you mat I read Shaw too. King David,"

Colonel Ciotti said- "Butitdoesn'tchangemyorders."

 "Highly irregular orders," Alexander said.

 Outside the window Sparta City lay at midsummer peace on a clear morning, a quiet humm o{ traffic no louder than the sound of birds in the parks below, drifting in with the scent of roses and warm dust.

Unbelievable, Alexander thought. That aU this can he shattered in a moment. As if to echo his thought, the double crack of a hypersonic transport coming in sounded. Not a commercial flight; all such had ended when the interdict was laid on. This would be the last of the transports bringing down the CoDominium's troops. A full regiment, and the former CD people said a very good one.

 Another transport snapped past, startlingly dose.

Two of the Brotherhood representatives, a banker and the owner of a chain of clothing stores, looked at each other with ashen faces. They stood with the other Phraetrie leaders, middle aged men, a few women.


Serious people; it was a high honor on Sparta- Most of them had children up at the front, with the Royal Army or the mobilized Militia, and all of them had families and homes here in Sparta City.

 The orders are unusual. I grant you that," Colonel Ciotti said, regretful firmness in his voice. "But I have no grounds for questioning their validity."

 "You don't?" Lysander asked. "Sealed orders, in the name of the Vice Admiral but signed off by a Marine General, from a Sector Command HQ, All communications as well as commerce mterdictedColonel, you know as well as we do that this is a political move by Grand Senator Bronson, and those orders will be rescinded the instant that Grand Admiral Lermontov hears of them."

 "I don't know anything about politics," Ciotti said.

"Don't you, Marco?" Samuel Forrest asked gently.

"Then you've forgotten a lot since the High Cathay campaign. You didn't used to be anyone's dupe."

"My orders forbid me even to talk to you," Ciotti said. "And I won't."

 *Tliis is a violation of the Treaty of Independence,"

David said. "Interference in the Dual Monarchy's internal affairs."

 "That's politics too," Ciotti said. "And I won't be involved in politics. Look, Your Majesties - Major Owensford - I didn't ask to be sent here; my men and I were doing difficult work on Haven, and necessary work at that. I strongly suspect, hell, I know, we're being used to pursue some Grand Senator's private vendetta, and I'm pretty sure I could name the Senator. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that's happened to Ae Fleet. The way things are going, it may well be the last. But that's all irrelevant. The th has a valid order, and as of hours, the troops of Palkenberg's Legion will be in defiance of the CoDominium. If that happens, appropriate action will be taken. Please don't make it worse than it has to be by trying to get in the th s way, because anyone who does is going to die, and it's as simple as that. Majesties, gentlemen, ladies, good day." He rose, clicked heels and inclined his head to the monarchs, and left with his aides at his heels.

 There was a moment of silence, then everyone tried to talk at once. Peter Owensford listened for a  jerry PoumeUe - S.M Sttrhng moment, then called, "Attention!" in a parade ground voice. "The room fell silent for a moment.

 "So. What does it mean?" Lysander demanded. He turned to Admiral Forrest. "What is happening?"

 "I don't know. It doesn't make any sense at all," Forrest said. "They've cut off all communications with Karantov and Newell. I can't even get through to Commodore Guildibrd! Some of this is pretty obvious.

Nguyens motives are dear. He's been in bed with the Bronson faction forever, and Bronson can be pretty generous. Immunity, pardon, or hell, a new identity and a lot of money on whatever planet he likes."

 "And what planet will want him after this?" King Alexander demanded.

 "Majesty, there are places Bronson stands high,"

Anatoly Nosov said. He shrugged- "And not so many places that would welcome Nguyen in any event, but this is not important. I agree with Admiral Forrest, problem is to understand why Ciotb does this. My guess is he thinks there will be no rescinding order from Lermontov."

 "But -" King Alexander's eyes widened"I don't think I'm going to like this, but please explain," lysander said.

 "If Grand Admiral Lermontov is alive and still holds command, he will rescind that order. Ciotti knows this. Inference is obvious."

"I agree," Admiral Forrest said.

"You're saying Lermontov is dead?" King David asked.

"Dead, or deposed. Majesty." Nosov said. "I fear so."

"Which raises other questions," Forrest said. "Just what does Qotti know, and how does he know it?" He shrugged. "But what's important is, what will we do now?"

 "Wnat shouldwe do?" David said simply. "Fight, or obey? Ordinarily the Kings are required to seek counsel on such matters. With the Ultimate Decree in effect I suppose we don't have to, but perhaps it's better."

 There were murmurs among the councilors and observers.

 'Terhaps you have a choice." Peter Owensford said"We don't. Once we're disarmed we're helpless, and while I doubt Ciotti would be party to our slaughter, he could sure as hell deliver us to someone who would be.

If they can do something this raw. God knows there's nothing they can't do-or that Bronson won't do."

 "So you'll fight," Alexander said. 'The Legion will fight."

 "We'll try. Our fighting strength is supporting Spartan operations at Base One and Stora. Ciotti knows that, and he'll make it plenty tough for any of them to come home. What we've got left is retired troops, staff officers, some military police, the dependents, against a Une Marine regiment. Before we can get any strength transferred from the front, he'll be at the gates of Fort Plataia demanding surrender. Once he has our base and our dependents, it'll be easier to deal with the rest of us. He already has guards posted around the Fort. They're not letting anyone leave, not without a fight anyway." Owensford shrugged. "We can't even run away. Not our people at the Fort, anyway. I suppose some of the field units could disband and hide out, but they'll put a lot of pressure on you people to help them hunt us down, and nobody's going to want to abandon our dependents to Ciotti anyway."

 "But what will happen?" someone asked.

For answer, Owensford pointed to the main screen. It showed Marine equipment rolling up from the shuttle docks to the CoDominium enclave; tank-transporters and personnel carriers, artillery, general cargo- The men marched behind, in battiedress of synthileather over armor. The harsh male sound of their singing crashed back from the walls of the deserted streets: "We've left blood in the dirt of twenty-five worlds We've built roads on a dozen more, And aS that we have at the end of our hitch Buys a night with a second-rate whore.

 The Senate decrees, the Grand Admiral CaQs The orders come down from on high.

 It's 'On FuU Kits' and 'Sound Board Ships.' We're sending you where you can die."

 "It would have been easier to stop their landing, of course," Owensford said conversationally. "Once they're down and sorted out into their units they're a lot stronger."

 "Except we don't have any way to control what lands on Sparta," Lysander said.

 "The lands that we take. the Senate gives back Rather more often than not, But the more that are killed, the less share the loot And we won't be back to this spot."

 "And if we fight them?" Alexander asked.

 We'll break the hearts of your women and girls We may break your arse, as well Then the Line Marines with their banners unfurled Will follow those banners to hell -"

 "What will happen? We'll probably lose," Peter Owensford said. "Ciotti's heart won't be in it - he'd never have started this if he'd thought we'd resist - but he'll fight because it's what he's done all his life and he doesn't know what else to do."

 "We know the devil, his pomps, and his works, Ah, yes! We know them well!

When you've served out your hitch in the Line Marines, You can bugger the Senate of Hell!"

 "Of course the Bronson people are counting on knocking Sparta out once we don't have your help any more," Lysander said.

 "I expect so," Owensford said. "Actually it's rather late for that. You've learned well. Still, you'll be hurt. Murasaki's technoninjas will have your communications in knots once they round up all the former CD technicians. You've got good universities here, but they're not prepared for what Murasaki does. Not many are. Still, we've done a pretty good job on the Helots, at Base Camp One, and the Stora Commando operation. If they'd tried this stunt a couple of months ago, who knows, they really might have knocked you out of the war. Now -" He shrugged. "You've got a better chance than we do.

Preserve your strength, take it slow and careful, I think you'll be all right in the end."

 "Then we'll drink with our comrades and throw down our packs, We'll rest ten years on the flat of our backs.

Then it's 'On Full Kits' and out of your racks, You must build a new road through Hell!" "General Owensford," Lysander said. "I think you are laboring under a misconception."

 "Highness?"

 Lysander stared at the screen. Rank after rank of Marines swung by the pickup. The tempo of the song changed, to a flurry of drums and horns.

 ferry PoumeSe - S.M. Stirling "The Fleet is our country, we sleep with a rifle, No man ever begot a son on his rifle, They pay us in gin and curse when we sin, There's not one who can stand us unless we're downwind.

We're shot when we lose owl turned out when we win, But we bury our comrades wherever they fall, And there's none that can face us though we've nothing at aU!"

 "You seem to think we're going to abandon you,"

Lysander said.

 "It's the sensible thing to do," Owensford said.

"No, by God," Alexander said. "Do you think that little of us, Peter Owensford? What have we done that you think that?"

 "Sire-" For some reason Peter Owensford couldn't talk.

 King David raised his head from his hands. "We here in this room have no choice," he said. "But - you all know what we have here. The Ufe Guards, some training units, and little else. All the first line Brotherhood units are up north. There's nothing left but the second-line Militia units. Old men, and boys and women. Enough to put down riots or fight terrorists, but can we ask them to fight that?" He pointed at the screen. "General Owensford, the Freedman Life Guards are at your disposal, and me with them, but I can't order the militia to face Une Marines."

 "There's no need to order them," Lysander said. He turned to the Brotherhood representatives. "Citizens and Brothers. The Kings will lead their guards in defense of the allies of Sparta. Will the Brotherhoods join us?"

 "Yes, Highness." Allan Hyson, the banker, looked scared, but his voice was firm. "How could we not?"

 ^ CHAPTER SEVENTEEN There is a paradox in the study of individual military merit inasmuch as people generally believe that the fundamental strength of soldiers is derived from the mutual dependence of comradeship and its assurance of being never left to fight alone. This is superficially true, but only in the sense that the strength of mutual dependence is an end product itself.

Nothing can be derived from mutual support among a group of nothings. The man in a unit who has nothing within himself of any positive value is at best a vacant file. Unit strength is built of individual strength in positive quantities, however small. The approbation of his companions in arms is the greatest reward of a soldier's life. He never wins it by relying wholly on the efforts of others to assure his survival. In battle, when a man is not acting by reflex and retains a moment for introspection, the sensation of aloneness is most vivid. It is not to right or left or backward that he looks for strength of survival, but within himself. He is lost if there is nothing there of substance.

 -Joseph Maxwell Cameron, The Anatomy of Military Merit ^ -> "Urgent signal, sir," Andy Lahr said. "Captain Catherine Alana."

 "Is this circuit secure?"

 "Yes, sir, direct line of sight systems, the Palace to Plataia. I mean, with Murasald I suppose we can't be sure about anything, but I'd bet on it."

 "It will have to do. OK, Andy, put her on screen."

 Catherine was in battle dress, armor and leather, her hair hidden under a combat helmet. "New intelligence report," she said. "Comet Talldns has reported in.

 We've arranged a pickup, but I prefer to send her to the Palace. The CoDominium might or might not let her in here, but it wouldn't be much of a favor to put her in the middle of a battle after all she's been through. They were pretty rough on her. Anyway, I told her to ask for you, code Jehosophat."

 "All right, I'll arrange to have her brought in. We can send her over to St. Thomas Hospital. Any reason I should talk to her myself? Andy Bielslds is here."

 "She knows where Sidlly is."

 "jfesus. Tell me, quick."

 "Unfortunately, it's where Skilly was. A farmhouse up near Corinth. Worth raiding, but you won't get anyone important. TaUdns didn't exactly escape. General.

she was rescued."

 "By whom?"

 "Sir, you're not going to like this. By Geoffrey Niles.

He's with her, and will be at the Palace shortly"

 "Niles. Under some kind of amnesty?"

 "Safe conduct," Catherine said. "We didn't have much time, the Helots are looking for them, and so it was kind of a package deal, I had to bring in both."

 "I'll do what I can. That Stora business really got to Prince Lysander. If we can show Niles had any connection to that, Lysander will hang him and there won't be a thing I can do about it. Or want to do about it for that matter."

 "Yes, sir. Anyway, I told Niles he could walk out with a reasonable head start. General, he did rescue Margreta TaUdns."

 "Yeah. All right, I said I'll do what I can."

 "Hiere's more. The reason Skilly isn't at the farmhouse is that she's in Sparta City, Minetown to be exact, organizing the Helot revolt to take over when the CoDominium Marines kill off die government of Sparta. When the Marines march on us. she'll start a general uprising,"

 "How truly good," Owensford said. "I have to face the th Line Marines with all my forces up north, nothing here but secondary militia, and I get to deploy for a general uprising as well. Actually, I expected it. Nice to see that effort wasn't wasted.

Any idea of just what strength she's got?"

 "No, sir, and I don't think she knows either. The Ultimate Decree caught them off guard, and a lot of their politicals have deserted the cause now that it's dangerous. Of course if she looks like winning they'll be back. General, that's not the worst of it."

 "Captain, just what can be worse?"

 "Murasaki. He's got an atom bomb."

 "Oh, boy. Do we know what he plans to do with it?"

 "No, sir. Niles may know more about that. He was being cagey, holding back some information to bargain with. Of course he may be wrong, but I'd bet a lot that he believes he's not wrong, that Murasaki has a bomb and Skilly has worked out a way to use it to her advantage.

Maybe you can find out more when he gets there."

 "I'll try. Wish I had you here."

 "Use Andy. He's better than me, almost as good as Jesus," Catherine said "OK, sir, I'll get back to defense organization."

 "Yeah. How's morale."

 "Not good, but how could it be?"

 "Right. Tell them to hang on. Ciotti may want to carry out his orders, but he doesn't want his bright and shiny regiment all bloodied either. I'm hoping that when he realizes he has a real fight he'll reconsider."

 "Yes, sir. Well, I'd best get to work. Alana out."

Catherine didn't sound as if she believed that Ciotti would reconsider, which was all right, because Owensford didn't really believe it either.

 ^ •- ^ The gates of the CoDominium compound swung open. Almost silently, two Suslov tanks flowed out, sensors scanning as their turrets swung the mm autocannon back and forth. The scouts had gone over the wall earlier; infantry followed the armor, deploying into open formations.

 Lysander felt his palms sweat as he watched through the pickup from the lead tank. God I wish I was there. Like hetl I do.

 The plan was to keep the CD Marines in the urban areas, prevent their full deployment. Try to keep them from winning quickly. Every hour's delay was another chance Lermontov would send countermanding orders. Or something. Hell, the horse may learn to sing.

 The tanks moved forward. God, I'm glad I'm not there. Those were better machines than his men had, and crewed by soldiers everyone called the best in the human universe.

 He had put the Spartan-made armor in the forward positions, holding the Legion's handful of modem tanks and AFVs back to contain penetrations. The first of the Marine tanks was nosing down the avenue leading south, with a screening force of infantry fanned out ahead, shadowy figures darting from one piece of cover to the next.

 "Now," he said.

 The pickup monitor shuddered, and buried blast charges dropped the fronts of the buildings on either side into the street- A barrier of rubble slid down across the pavement in a cloud of dust and brick that billowed out to obscure the nightvision scope's view. Overhead the freight-train rumble of artillery passed, and seconds later the lead element of the th Marines fell under the hammer of airburst shells. Automatic weapons opened up, streams of tracer from well-covered positions further down the street killing or pinning the Marine foot soldiers. The first Suslov accelerated, rising up over the rubble that blocked the street.

 The monitor shuddered again, this time as the Gmm gun of the Cataphract opened up, hammering five shells into the thinner belly armor of the medium tank. The flashes were bright; the heavier vehicle slewed around and halted. An instant later it exploded, a muffled whump sound and belches of yellow-orange flame through slits and hatches.

 "Got him, got him!" the Cataphracts commander was saying. "We got -" The pickup went blank.

 "Switch to secondary," Lysander said.

 "Captain Porter here."

 "Collins here."

 "Highness, the rebels are making their move concurrently with the Marine attack. Power's down except for buildings with auxiliaries." That meant the whole city was dark, no streetlights, probably no water. "City corn lines are completely garbled. Heavy jamming on the air. Firing in the streets, and fires, from what sensors I have left. Seems to be centered in Minetown."

 Lysander nodded grimly. Every Field Force soldier and militiaman was needed to contain the Marines; so were the Milice The unorganized reserve of the Brotherhoods would have to contain the Minetowners. That might be difficult; there were sixty thousand new chums in there, many of them hungry, and there had been no time to root out all the rebels.

 "The third line will have to handle it," he said.

That's aU there is. he thought. Ordinary people.

 Another light flashed. "Sir! Major Donald here. The Marines are-"

 -o- <• •"

 "Where do you think you're going?"

 Thomas McTiernan sucked in his gut and managed to fasten the armor; a decade as a tavern and restaurant keeper had left him a good deal heftier than he had been when he last wore the Brotherhood militia equipment. Behind him an open window looked out over a street dark except for the light of a three-quarter Cytheria and the ruddy glow of burning buildings a little further north; the low-rent district was ablaze from end to end. No fire sirens sounded, not since the rebel snipers slaughtered the first response of the amateur fire companies. He could see the flashes from shells exploding near the CoDo enclave, as well, and the staccato echoes of small-arms fire. Both were increasing, and even as he watched Marine artillery opened up from inside the enclave, firing south against the Royal guns dug in near Government House Square.

 "Didn't you hear the King?" he said, turning on her.

Their bedroom was plain enough; there was a hologram of a serious-looking young man in Royal Army uniform. Another of a younger man; that one had the simple starburst of the Order of Thermopylae laid across it. "I'm going to help stop the rebels, the Marines, get the bastards who hurt Julio -"

 Then he took in the hunting clothes on her stout body, the shotgun firmly clutched in her hands.

 "Not without me, you aren't, Thomas McTiernan,"

she said. "And don't say it. All the young, strong, fit ones are off with the Army, like Mike -" they both glanced toward the picture of their son in uniform "- and we're what's left."

 He stared at her in silence for a moment, then snorted. "Startin' to remember why I married you, Maria," he said.

 The arms case was in the back of the bedroom closet.

A Peltast rifle lay there, massive and ugly-handsome and   shining with careful maintenance. He threw the bandoleer over his shoulder, then ducked his head through the carrying strap, grunting as he came erect.

These mothers are heavy, he thought. One of his knees gave a warning twinge, legacy of an ancient soccer game.

Hope I don't have to sprint much.

 His daughter was waiting at the head of the stairs, a gangling buck-toothed girl with a mop of carrot-colored hair, just turned thirteen and adding pimples to her mass of freckles- She was wearing the brown cotton-drill uniform of the Royal Spartan Scouts, complete with neckerchief, and carrying the scopesighted . rifle they trained with. Her father opened his mouth, hesitated.

 "Just keep your head down and don't do anything damn-fool, understand?" he growled.

 "Yes, Papa," she said.

 Damn sight more respectful than she usually is, he thought, working his mouth to moisten it. Christ, I wish I was twenty again A young man didn't think he could die. A young man didn't have responsibilities ... A young man didn't see his son after he 'd thrown himself on a grenade m his own home.

 They came out into the courtyard that was the patio of the family business, and a shadowy figure leaped back with a cry.

 "Jesus, Thorn!"

 "Ah, Eddie," McTiernan said. recognizing the neighbor who had the appliance-repair shop down at the comer. "Sorry."

 They walked out into the street. A crowd was gathering; he recognized most of them, but it was odd to see the same faces you passed the time of day with milling around with guns in their hands.

 'Thorn, we're putting up a barricade at the end of the street. Mind if we use your van?"

 He winced - that was three years scrimping and saving - then nodded and threw the man the keys.

 "Hey, sprout, get your bike," a younger voice said.

"Mr. Kennedy says we gotta be couriers to the other parts of the neighborhood-"

 His daughter gave him a brief kiss on the cheek and dashed away; Maria McTleman came back out of the door, her shotgun slung muzzle-down along her back and two large hampers in her hand.

 "Sandwiches," she said, to his unspoken question.

"They'll need sandwiches at the barricade."

 "Eddie," he said, struck with a thought. He hoisted the Peltast rifle up with the butt resting on one hip.

 "Yeah?"

 "Get me a couple of people, will you?" He pointed to the library at the end of the street with his free hand; it was a neo-Californian period piece, with a square four-story tower at one comer. "With someone to watch my back, I could do a lot of good from up there with this jackhammer."

 "Yeah! Hey, Forchsen, Mrs. Brust, c'mon over here!"

 Somebody pedaled up, breathless, shouted in a voice just beginning to break.

 "Hey, I'm from Jefferson street! My Dad sent me to tell you the Minetowners are coming right up Paine Avenue, must be thousands of them, molotovs and guns and all, they've got some trucks covered with boilerplate, too. Coming through where the Marines blew down the buildings."

 A growl ran through the householders, mechanics, storekeepers, clerks. The crowd flowed toward the barricade, into tiring positions in upper floors; McTieman heard window-glass being hammered out with rifle butts as he lumbered wheezing toward the library, gasping thanks as Mrs. Brust the schoolteacher came up to take some of the weight off his shoulder.

 Her machinepistol clanked against him with every stride, to a mutter of "sorry, sorry."

 On Burke Avenue, on scores of others like it, the Battle of Sparta City had begun.

 •" -- <• "Report, Group Leader Derex?" Kenjiro Murasaki said, indicating the map table. The commander of the Helot regulars infiltrated into Sparta City looked exhausted, his armor dark with grime and smoke.

 "Not so good, sir," he said. "Here." The map showed Minetown as a solid splotch of Movement red, with long tangled pseudopods reaching out across the city; there was another, smaller block on the other side of the Sacred way, and a scattering like measles almost to Government House Square. From the CoDominium enclave a single broad straight arrow drove south, overlapping the Movement forces.

 "Trouble is, them Minetowners ain't gettin' out as much as we'd like," the Helot said regretfully. "Well, not surprisin'. Handing 'em guns don't make them fuckers soldiers, sir. Too many barricades and Cits with guns. Not mihshy - the milishy fightin' the Marines - just Cits, but they kin shoot. Nearly got me, b'God; snipers thicker'n dogshit out there. Peltast rifles, too, them armored cars ain't worth jack shit against them fuckers." A look of grudging respect made the Helot s face longer than ever.

 "Well, anyways, when the Minetowners do git out, 'n overrun places with Cits in 'em, they just stops to loot, rape and burn and drink anythin' they kin find, transmission fluid included. Then the Milice fiyin' squads hits and drives 'em back. Our own fires is getting so outa hand they're blockin' us too. Too many of 'em round the edges of Minetown."

 "Flying squads?" Murasald said thoughtfully. "How do they coordinate, without communications?" Much of the Royal Army equipment was still functioning, but the ordinary city facilities were frozen.

 The Helot officer brayed laughter. Murasaki frowned, and it sobered the tall man down to a grin.

"Hiey ain't using the corn, sir. They's usin' Evil Scuts."

"Eagle Scouts?" the Meijian said, baffled.

"Little motherfuckers're on rooftops and in attic winders all over town, anywhere Cits live, blinkin' at each other with flashlights. Morse code." This time the admiration was ungrudged. "Runnin' messages by bicycle, too."

 "Dispose of them."

 "How, sir? I ain't got but the one Group, seven hundred countin' every booger and ass-wipe.

V Movement gunmen will have to do it."

 Murasaki nodded thoughtfully. Surprising, he thought. Analysis had indicated the blockade and CoDominium intervention would frighten the populace into sitting this out.

 "Recommendations?"

 "Sure, sir. Them Minetowners don't have the discipline to overrun even weak forces, but they got more'n enough numbers and firepower, with what we handed out. Your cell-leaders -" he jerked a thumb at the men and women behind him, in civilian clothes but armed and wearing = sign armbands "- keep tiyin' to lead from the front. Like tryin' to stiffen up a pitcher of spit with a handful of buckshot, just wastin' men who're willing to tight. Put automatic weapons teams behind the crowds. Fire on anyone who retreats. Set the fires in the center of Minetown, big ones. They'll charge the barricades if you get them too crazy-scared of what's behind them to stop."

The technoninja nodded"Do it. Now. Also, detach two companies for the EncQosung attack on Fort Plataia."

 The Helot hesitated. "Sir -"

"It is essential."

Orders crackled out.

 •^ •" •"

 "Glad to see you. Comet Talldns," Owensford said.

"Highness, I present Cornet Margreta Talldns. She holds commissions in both the Legion and the Royal Intelligence Corps. Talldns, Crown Prince Lysander."

 "I'm proud to meet you. Highness," Margreta saidShe looked down at her ill fitting clothing with embarrassment. "They didn't tell me I was to meet you-"

 Lysander took her hand and kissed her fingers. "I'm very pleased to meet you. We'll repeat the introduction at a more pleasant event," Lysander said. He turned to her companion. "I can't say I'm pleased to see you, Miles. Frankly, I'd rather talk to a snake."

 "I wish I could resent that," Geoffrey Niles said.

"But unfortunately I understand all too well."

 "Were you at Stora?" Lysander demanded.

 "At Stora, yes, Highness. But I had nothing to do with the attack on the Armory. I would have prevented it if I could."

 "You knew it was to take place?"

 "I knew we had an earth penetrator missile. I did not know its target until less than five minutes before the launch. I protested the targeting, and was told that if I continued to protest I would be shot. I did not order that target, nor did I pass along any orders concerning that missile."

 "Sergeant Bielskis?" Owensford asked.

 "No hesitations, and no doubts," Andy Bielslds said.

"If he's faking that, he's the best I ever saw. I'd say genuine, sir."

 "If you like I'll submit to any questioning technique you want to employ," Niles said. The only violation of the Laws of War that I have been involved in or condoned was the gas attack in the Dales, and that was against military targets only. There weren't even any civilians in the area."

 "All right, we'll hold that one in abeyance," Owensford said. "Comet, what was promised to Mr. Niles?"

 "Free passage out if he didn't talk us into a better deal, and a reasonable head start before pursuit."

 "Talldns, you sound exhausted. I suppose its best you're here as long as we're talking to Grand Senator Bronson's nephew, but as soon as we're done I want you to go check into St. Thomas's," Owensford said.

 "Thanks, sir, but I reckon I can still fight."

 There's no need," Lysander said.

 "Every need," Margreta said. "Highness, I intend to accept Citizenship just as soon as I'm discharged. This is my home, and I'll sure feel better when we've got these scum cleaned out of it." She touched her bruised cheeks and black eye. "And I reckon I have some personal reasons, too."

 "Well, I can't argue that," Owensford said. "All right, Niles, you hinted that you want a better deal than a safe conduct out of here. What do you want and what will you trade?"

 "What I want is a free pardon," Niles said "Not a ticket off-planet?"

 "If I have to take that I'll do it, but I'd rather earn me right to stay here," Geoff said. "Stay here, help rebuild.

Help undo some of the damage I've caused." He looked significantly at Margreta. "Marry, work for Citizenship."

 "Why this change of heart?"

 "It would take a long time to explain, and we don't have a long time,'* Geoff said. "You leam a lot about a society from fighting it. And about its leaders. And what I learned was to admire you people."

 "And what do you have to bargain with?" Owensford demanded.

 "Information. I'll give it all to you, and you determine what it's worth- I'll accept your valuation."

 Lysander look coldly at him for a while. "All right.

Spill it."

 Geoff told them of the conversation he had heard between Skilly and Murasald. "I didn't actually hear the word 'nuke,' " he said, "but I can't think what else it could be. Murasald has one, but only one, nuclear weapon, and he intends to deploy it either to destroy the Palace, or Legion Headquarters at Fort Plataia, If it was left to Skilly it would be the Palace, but my guess is that Murasald prefers Plataia."

 "But you don't know it's a nuke," Lysander said, "and in any event you don't know where it is. Where it is now, or where it is going to be. Who would know?"

 "Skilly, and Murasald," Geoff said. "And maybe not Skilly. Murasald is crazy. Apparently Grand Uncle gave him the assignment of undermining Sparta, and the secondary but almost equally important goal of punishing Falkenberg's Legion."

 "Sounds a bit odd," Owensford said. "The Legion's on New Washington. We're just some odd bits and pieces."

 "Including the families," Niles said. "Murasald would delight in the anguish it would cause Falkenberg and his people on New Washington if they heard their famihes were killed- Or captured by Bronson people."

 "That must take real hate," Owensford said. "Is Bronson that crazy?"

 Niles shook his head slowly. "General, I don't know.

I used to think he was crazy like a fox. That's still the way to bet it."

 "All right," Lysander said. "General, your evaluation? Is his information worth what he asks?"

 "It's close. Talkins, have you a recommendation regarding this man?" Owensford said.

 "He saved my life," she said- "And he - was very much a gentleman."

 "Well, you have a large favor coming from the Crown," Lysander said.

 "Oh. Well, if it's large enough to cover his pardon, I'll ask for it," Margreta said.

 Lysander nodded. "So be it. Geoffrey Niles, you have a free pardon for all acts committed since you arrived on Sparta to this moment. Comet Talkins, you've still got a favor coming, you didn't use more than half your credit on this."

 "So," Owensford said. "Sergeant, take Mr. Niles to a conference room and see if he remembers anything else worth knowing. Particularly clues about where this Gotterdammerung is going to go off."

 Lysander stood. "I don't suppose I can be much help with that. Cornet Talldns, please go to St.

Thomas's. It won't be any picnic. I'm afraid the hospital is going to end up as part of the defense system."

•"<'<• "The next push with their armor may get through,"

Lysander said bluntly, to the officers grouped around them. "We're sopping up their infantry, us and the Citizens, but we've got to get. more antitank teams out there-"

 It had been only five hours since the attack began.

Five hours. God. He could hear his own words as he briefed his men, but somewhere beneath it was running a stream of memory, smashed buildings and men gaping in death around burning iron. Only five hours and we're already back to Government House Square.

The St. Thomas Hospital had been the only building suitable for a redoubt.

 "Sir, rebels, they're in the main ventilation shafts on level four!"

 Lysander jerked his head up from the map. "Bloody   hell! Come on - not you, just the riflemen."

 The machine-gunner at the window nodded, tapping off another expert short burst at the shadowy figures darting between the burning cars m the lot below. God Damn. The CoDo Marines were not cooperating with me Helots deliberately, but the effect could be the same.

 .Lysander lead the way out of the orderly room they had taken over as tactical HQ at a pounding run.

Wounded men and the sick evacuated from the lower levels looked up at him as he passed, slalomed off the wall at the axial corridor with the rifle squad at his heels. This was level four; his redoubt. And Melissas room was quite close to where the main airshaft branched off from the service core.

"There!" he shouted.

 There was movement behind the grillwork screen, across from her door. He fired from the hip as he ran, walking the bullets up the wall and into the metersquare grille. More movement, a jerk. A flash of white light, and suddenly he was lying against the door and the door was open, and Melissa was looking at him.

Smiling. Then horrified, and beginning to struggle out of bed- She had a pistol in one hand, and a book in the other. Some distant part of him recognized it; the Church of Sparta Book of Hours.

"No, stay there, darling, please."

"Bastards," he wheezed, levering himself over so that he faced the corridor. The door swung shut behind him. Thin, no protection.

 Pain stabbed into his ribs, making him cough. That was a mistake, because white light ran behind his eyelids and the world rocked, and vomiting would really be a mistake if his ribs were in the state he thought they where. Already in hospital, nothing I can do.

 "Bastards," he gritted again, and used the rifle to climb to his knees. "Bastards!" The men who had followed him here were down, moving or still but down.

An arm dangled out of the black hole up near the roof where the screen had been, shredded and dripping, a head and shoulders and too many teeth showing where blast had ripped the skin and muscle off a skull like a glove off a hand. Hie body jerked and trembled, Not alive. Moving. More of them m the shaft.

 Lysander slumped against the wall, ignoring the gratings under his chest. The armor would hold it for a while. He clamped the rifle between his side and his arm, brought up the wavering muzzle.

 "Bastards!"

 Bang and ptank as a bullet slammed through the thin lath and thinner metal behind it, the aluminum airshaft itself. Hollow booming as something big thrashed around in that strait space, and the hole began to leak red down the gray-white plaster of the hospital wall.

 "Bastards^ Another shot, another, recoil hammering into his side, spacing them down the length of the corridor, the length of the hidden shaft. Someone came up behind him, another rifleman, firing with him, slow and deliberate. Then a thunderclap; fire shot out around the body stuck in the hole like a cork in a bottle, and plaster showered down as the metal ballooned. Harv came trotting down the corridor reloading his grenade launcher, calling over his shoulder for stretcher-bearers.

 Lysander looked to see who his companion was.

"Well, Comet Talldns. I think you've earned another favor. Now do me one. Stay with Melissa."

 "Aye aye, sir."

 Harv brought the medics up. "Lady, I sure thank you," he said. "It was supposed to be me with the Prince, and-" He gestured to the medics.

  "I can stand," Lysander gritted. "I can't sprint but I can command. Get me up. Back to the war room.

 Now."

 ^ ^ o Centrifugal force kept the outer rim of the space station at . gee, which was comfortable compared to Sparta. Everyone knew that high gravity was much better for your health, people in high gravity planets lived longer due to the increased exercise, but . gee was still a relief. Sergeant Wallace and the th Captain whose name Boris Karantov couldn't remember had remarked on it. They'd talked about many things in an attempt to be pleasant, and to take Karantov's mind off the fact that he was a prisoner in his own office.

 After a while they turned on the television screens.

They showed the battles in Sparta City from the view of the Marines of the th. The battle wasn't going smoothly. In five hours they'd made a wreck of part of the city, but they hadn't stopped the city resistance at all.

And now there were other scenes, of rebels attacking die citizens although they carefully avoided fighting any units of the th.

 Boris Karantov watched the battle with horror.

 He maintained a chilly silence until the Marine lieutenant had left the room. Then he spoke to the polite Line Marine sergeant. "Sergeant Wallace, good men are being killed down there. Your comrades, Legionnaires, Spartans. And you are illegally detaining legitimate CoDominium authorities who could end this madness."

 The Line Marine sergeant didn't like his situation at all. "Sir, the Captain told me-"

 "Sergeant, do you deny that I am senior CoDominium Marine officer in this system?"

 "No, sir."

 Then forget your captain. I am giving you orders: assist me in regaining control of this station."

 "Colonel, I can't do that-"

 "Sergeant, you will do that. Or shoot me now. If you disobey this order and I am alive when this is over, Sergeant Wallace, I will have you hanged in low gravity, and the last thing you will see will be recordings of that." He pointed at the screens. "Or do you tell me you Join military services to accomplish that?"

 "Jesus, Colonel, all I know is they tell me -" He lowered his voice. "Colonel, the story is you're all Lermontov people, and Lermontov is out. Arrested.

Admiral Townsend is in charge now."

 "And you believe Fleet will go over to Townsend, which is to say, Bronson?"

 "God damn, Colonel, we don't know jack shit about politics, I know I got my orders."

 "Which are rescinded," a voice said from behind him. "Sergeant, if you reach for that weapon I will cheerfully cut your throat. Colonel, if you'll relieve him of that sideann - there. Thank you."

 Thank you. Now who are you?" Karantov demanded.

 "Master Sergeant Hiram Laramie, SAS, Falkenberg's Legion, at your service. Colonel. When we couldn't raise communications. Colonel Owensford sent us up to have a look."

 "How the fuck did you get here?" Sergeant Wallace demanded, "I confess curiosity myself," Karantov said "Navy helped," Laramie said. They was getting worried they couldn't reach Captain Newell or any of their own officers, sir, so they was glad to help us come take a look. Ueutenant Deighton's looking to help Captain Newell, sir."

 "What have you done with the others of the th?"

 "Got 'em handcuffed outside," Laramie said. "Sergeant Wallace, if you'll put your hands behind you - careful, now, and nobody gets hurt. Thank you. Colonel, General Owensford would like mightily to speak with you. Shall I get him for you?"

 "Yes, please, Sergeant. And please to find out status of Fleet Captain Newell, if you will..."

->•<••"

 Marine Captain Saunders Laubenthal slid up behind the windowsill and looked out onto the street outside. The dead from the last Spartan counterattack littered it; many were down below, where his men had had to dear them out with grenades.

 We took the street, he thought bitterly. And now there's another bloody street to take.

 "Irony," he muttered to himself.

 "Sir?" Sandeli said.

 The black was the senior sergeant now, and secondin-command of the company since Lieutenant Cernkov had been carried back to the enclave and the regeneration stimulators. The unit had taken twenty percent casualties in the night's fighting.

 "I was planning to retire here," Laubenthal said absently. "Gods, if these are militia we're fighting, I'd hate to see their best. They just don't give up."

 From another window fire stabbed out across the street toward the Spartan positions. A body pitched forward to tumble off a balcony and forward to the pavement two stories below, a rifle rattling beside it.

 "Got them pretty well suppressed, sir," Sandeli said.

 Hint. "All right; tell first platoon to -"

 A sound interrupted him, a high-pitched shrieking from further down the street to the north, back along their path. Then a scatter of running figures; they were pushing a handcart before them, with a uniformed Spartan wired to the front of it and a thicker mob behind. The uniform was on fire, and the mob behind fell on the Spartan wounded in the street below the Marine position with clubs and tools and bayoneted rifles. More screams rose, and the flood of ragged humanity spilled over to the building the Royalists still held; the Marines had done their work of suppressing fire all too well.

 "Kaak," Sandeli muttered in his native tongue; shit.

 Captain Laubenthal stood and touched the side of his helmet. "The last bloody straw," he muttered.

"Damned if I'll see good soldiers murdered."

 "Sir?"

 "It appears that we're out of touch with HQ. sergeant," he said. "I do not seem to hear a thing. A Company! Open fire, selective. Drive off those jackals and rescue the Spartans."

 "Sir?"

 "You heard me, soldier!"

 "Fucking A, sir! Carmthers. New targets! Clean house!" He turned back to his captain. "Sir, I hope you never get that mother fucking radio working again."

<•<•<• "Owensford here."

 "Deighton here, sir. I have Fleet Captain Newell and Colonel Karantov with me."

 "Thank God. Bons, what's happening up there?"

 "Ciotti's people had us under house arrest," Karantov said.

 'Thought it was something like that- Guildford too?"

 "Sir, they've taken him somewhere else, possibly aboard that battlecruiser Patton, sir," Lieutenant Deighton said.

 'Thank you. But you have returned control of the CD space station to Fleet Captain Newell and Colonel Karantov?"

 "I can do that now, sir. Fleet Captain, Colonel, any time you'd like you can relieve my troops with those you've selected,"

 "I will see to this," Boris Karantov said. "I also wish to see that my landing craft is made ready. Piotr Stefanovich, my thanks. We will speak again."

 "General Slater, let me add my thanks as well."

Newell said. "I can't say I enjoyed being under arrest."

 "No, sir. If you'll pardon me. Captain, what the hell is going on? Has Ciotti lost his mind?"

 "Not quite," Newell said. "According to the sergeant who was holding Colonel Karantov prisoner. Qotti got, along with his orders to come here and arrest you, a message to the effect that Lermontov has been deposedIt doesn't seem to have been an official order signed by the Grand Senate, but a message from someone at Fleet Headquarters. There was another from the Grand Senate, or maybe from a Senate Committee."

 "Or an individual Grand Senator?"

 "Possibly. Since Ciotti's the only one we know who read it, I don't have the details. All I know is, we got word Ciotti was coming with special orders, and as soon as he got here he used his troops to take control of this station. We didn't suspect a thing. I couldn't figure out what was his hurry, but then not long after Ciotti's takeover here. Signals got a long coded message from Fleet Headquarters. Ciotti's people can't decode it, and my people said they couldn't, but that may have been a story for Ciotti. I'm checking on that now."

 "From Fleet Headquarters, but can't be decoded by Fleet signal officers," Owensford said. "Captain, if aU else fails, perhaps Colonel Karantov can decode it.

Or King Alexander."

 "Hmm. I see," Newell said. "All right, I'll have a copy sent down to you- If" you can read it, I expect you ought to."

 , "Meanwhile, what do you intend to do?" Owensford asked. "With Guildford out of communications, you're the senior Fleet official in this system."

 "Until Guildford shows up again," Newell said. "Or we get authenticated orders from Fleet Headquarters."

 "And if Lennontov has been thrown out in a Bronson coup?" Owensford asked.

 "I'll think about that. Now, if you'll excuse me, General, I thank you for the rescue, but there are serious matters demanding my attention. I want to get to my ship!"

 "Certainly. When you get the urgent parts done, Admiral Forrest and Captain Nosov would like to speak with you."

 Neweil grinned- "I just expect they - I have an intercom light. Colonel Karantov wants to be patched in. Just a moment. Boris?"

 "Da. Piotr Stefanovich?"

 "I'm here, Boris."

 "Do not surrender. I am departing for planetary surface," he said. "Godspeed my friend."

<•<•<• "Are we going to die, Mrs. Fuller?" the girl said.

Juanita Fuller looked around the bombproof shelter at the sea of faces; there were fifty children here, and hers was the ultimate responsibility. A dozen shelters like this ... The one who had asked the question was just too young to be up above helping with the last-ditch defense, around eleven. Her face was grave behind the CBW suit's transparent visor, but some of the others were sniffling back tears.

 Mark! something wailed inside her. But Comet Mark Fuller was with Aviation Company of the Legion on New Washington. Lieutenant by now. If he's stiU alive. We didn't have enough time! A few months, just enough to begin healing from her horrible captivity in the escaped-convict settlement on Tanith. Now she was supposed to face danger like an officer's lady . . .

I'm just a girl, I'm only nineteen.

 "Of course we aren't going to die, Roberta," she said, putting a teasing note into her voice. "You just want a chance to get up there and fire a gun." The miniuzi hung heavy on her hip. did all right on the firing range. Could I use it on a man?

 "Let's have a song, everybody," she said. "Because there's no school today...

 Little bunny froo-froo Hoppin through the forest - "

 Roberta began to sing, and then the others took it up: "Pickin' up the field mice Whackin' 'cm on the head!"

 "Jodie! Do not whack Angie on the head!"

•" •> ^ "Something funny that I didn't notice, Kinnie?"

Captain Jesus Alana asked. The motion sensors said a company level attack was coming out of them through the fire and smoke of the night; the Legion had pulled back to its original encampment, setting incendiaries in the huge Royal Army logistics buildings that made up much of the base.

 Base commander, he thought. Base commander of a rifle platoon. Adult hands were far too few in Fort Plataia to spare anyone from the firing line.

 Hassan al'Jinnah chuckled again. "Just reminds me of old times, sor," he said, stroking the stock of his machine-gun. "Ah, here they come." The Berber had been a long-service man when the Legion was still the nd CoDominium Marines and John Christian Falkenberg III had been a shavetail second lieutenant; for the last twenty-five years his job had been chief mess steward. "Reminds me ofKennicott, sor."

 A very good steward, since he was devoutly Muslim and never touched alcohol. The coctdng lever of his rifle made a tch-clack sound as he eased it backward and chambered a round Jesus Alana pressed his eyes to the vision block. The dark outside slipped away, replaced by a silvery day like none waking eyes had ever seen. The vast stores area in the western extension of the base was a pillar of flame behind the advancing Helots; two light tanks in the lead, and an infantry screen following. They came at a cautious trot, the AFVs taking advantage of each building, and the foot soldiers moving forward by squads and sections.

 "Pretty drill," he said, and pressed the stud. The ground erupted in a line of orange fire. He blinked; when he opened his eyes again his wife was beside him, whistling through her teeth.

 Cathy only does that when she's really nervous, he thought, unslinging his rifle. Her grenade launcher spat out its five rounds, choonk-choonk-choonk-choonk.

 There were no living targets when he brought up his weapon. "Doubt they'll try that again," he said thoughtfully. "And it can't have been their whole effort."

 The posts reported in, except for one. "Three?" he said. "Post three?"

 Mortar shells whisded overhead. Landline cut?

Possibly, and he had no one to spare to look.

 "They'll be back. At least once," he said.

 "Twice," al' Jinneh said. "Care for a bet, sor? Bottle ofCavaret Zinfandel?"

 "Against what?"

 "Blue Mountain coffee, sor. Half a pound"

 "Done. Though you win either way, Mess Steward"

 •" <• - Lieutenant Colonel Scott Parley studied the map table, then looked up to Colonel Marco Ciotti. "Six companies fail to report. Colonel."

 "The communications environment is very bad,"

Ciotti said. "But this is strange. Send messengers with new equipment and orders to report instantly."

 "Yes, sir." Is it that he doesn't know, or he doesn't want to know? Six companies don't report. We know two went over to the enemy! Could it be all six? Six companies of Line Marines gone over to the enemy!

Nothing like that has happened in thirty years. Of course they haven't exactly gone over, hut they're helping the Spartans put down the Minetown rebellion, and a damned good thing, too. Surely Ciotti knows?

 The assault on Fort Plataia has been repulsed,"

Ciotti said.

 "Yes sir."

 "Have them regroup and wait for assistance. Sergeant Kramer, get me Captain Donovic on the fatten."

 "Yes, sir. Have to relay through the space station, sir."

 That's all right."

 "Yes, sir. It'll be a minute."

 Scott Farley watched the map display, but his attention was on the colonel. He had a very good idea what Ciotti had in mind, and he didn't like it.

 "Here's Captain Donovic, sir.

 "Ciotti here. Captain, I'm losing far too many men in this operation. I need your heFp. Please set up to bombard designated targets in the Government House and Fort Plataia areas."

 "You really think that's necessary?" Donovic asked.

"Guildford isn't going to like it."

 "I see no point in telling Commodore Guildford until die battle is over," Ciotti said. "I also see no point in continuing to take casualties from these people.

They were given every opportunity for honorable surrender, but it is clear they intend to fight long after the result is inevitable. Why should I let our Marines be slaughtered in this senseless action?"

 Senseless. It's senseless, all right, Lt. Col. Parley thought. But not the way you think! Cod damn. God damn, damn- "Colonel, I'm not sure this is wise," Captain Donovic said.

 "What is unwise is holding off any longer," Ciotti said. "You know what is at stake here, and time is not on our side. Now please make ready for kinetic energy weapon bombardments. I will designate targets. It will not take long, and we will finish the resistance, at Fort Plataia and in the city itself. We can then proceed with our plans."

 "All right," Donovic said. "I don't like it, but I like failure even less, and as you say, time isn't exactly our friend here. Sound general quarters. Battle stations.

Prepare for planetary bombardment." Alarm klaxons hooted in the background "Captain Donovic."

 The voice was strange. Everyone in the map table room looked up, startled.

 "Who the hell is that?" Donovic demanded.

 'This is Fleet Captain Samuel Newell. I am apparently the senior CoDominium officer present.

Captain Donovic, I forbid you to use your ship to take part in this battle. You will please secure from general quarters and report to me in person. You will find me aboard Vera Cruz."

 "How the hell -" Ciotti said.

 "You're not the system commander," Donovic said "No, I understand that Commodore Guildford is a guest aboard your ship, Captain Donovic," Newell said. "I trust he is better pleased with that status than I was in my own offices on the space station. I have not heard you order your ship secured from general quarters, Captain, and I am waiting."

 "Be damned if I'll take orders from you."

 "Very well," Newell said. "Commander Tayior, sound general quarters. Battle stations. Divisions report when cleared for action."

 "Vera Cruz. A cruiser," Donovic said. This is a battle cruiser. You're bluffing."

 "Am I? Tayior, general signal to the squadron. Continue previous deployment. Battle stations, prepare for fleet action against the battlecruiser Patton. All units to report when ready for action."

 "Volga on station and ready for action, sir!"

 "Kirov cleared for action, will be on station in five minutes, sir!"

 "Newell, you've lost your mind! Are you going to fire on me? We need unity in the Fleet, not this!"

 "Exactly, Captain Donovic," Newell said. "And you're going to achieve unity by bombarding an independent planet against the direct orders of the system commanders? Ever think that our families are down there on Sparta where you've helped start a God damned war?"

 "Aegir sounding general quarters now. On station in twenty minutes."

 "You're not Commander Clarkson!" Donovic shouted.

 "No, sir, this is Lieutenant Commander Nielsen."

 "Where's Clarkson?"

 "He's not available, sir," Nielsen said. "Proceeding with general quarters. Captain Newell."

 Thank you. Captain Donovic, I am still waiting."

 There was a long pause. Then: "You know. there's never been a fleet action like this, four smaller ships  jerry Poumelle ir S.M. Stirling against a battle cruiser. I think we can take you, Newell."

 "Plus the space station. All units, prepare for general engagement."

 "But we'd be hurt pretty bad. And what the hell, we might not win. Robbie, secure from general quarters.

Captain Newell, you'll understand if I decline your invitation to join you aboard your ship, but I agree we'll need to continue this conversation without so many eavesdroppers.

 "Colonel Ciotti, I regret that your request for fire support has been overruled by the acting system commander. I fear you're on your own. Good luck."

 The speakers went silent. Ciotti cursed quietly.

"All right. We'll have to do it on our own." He looked at the map table. "Maybe we won't have to take the Palace. It looks like the rebels are about to do that."

 <• ^ <• "GO!" Group Leader Derex was screaming like a madman. "Go! Go! Go!"

 The Helots streamed toward the palace steps. One unit dashed to the flagstaff to haul down the crowned mountain of the Dual Monarchy. Their leader had begun to unfasten the halyards when a group burst out of the palace.

 An old man, and ten of the ceremonial Life Guards.

They didn't look ceremonial at all though, as they deployed on the huge steps, hiding behind the Doric columns and the great lion statues.

 Someone fired four times. The elderly leader of the Guards took another step forward, stumbled, and fell. For a moment there was a lull in the fighting. A woman burst out of the palace and ran to bend over him. She was still for a moment, then she stood.

 "Spartans! They have killed the King! The Helots have killed the King!"

 A moment of hushed silence; then a roar. From the palace, from the buildings around the square, from tunnels, seemingly from the sky itself, the cry was repeated. "Spartans! The Helots have killed the King!"

 And another cry, wordless, an animal sound of rage.

The Ufe Guards charged forward, firing coldly and efficiently and rapidly. They reached the party around the flagstaff, and the only Helots still standing were battered to the ground- One of the guards fell on the Helot soldier and beat him with his rifle butt.

 And from the square came militia, wounded soldiers, old men and women, children barely old enough to seize weapons from the fallen. They came out and they came out to kill.

 Derex watched his command dissolve, vanish, not so much beaten as destroyed. Men threw down their weapons to run, and that was no good either. The enemy was out now, out in the open, out where they could be killed, but they weren't dying, it was his men who were being slaughtered, shot, stabbed, strangled, beaten to death with baseball bats. A woman sat on a Helot's chest and pounded at his head with an iron frying pan.

 Derex stood to rally the men, and a grenade landed nearby. He threw himself away from it, to the ground, but the world had turned to slow motion, he couldn't fall fast enough, and the sound of the grenade was louder than anything he had ever heard in his life.

A <• ^ The screens panned down a street where outnumbered Spartan militia battled a Helot mob. The pickup was back far enough that it didn't show all the details, but there were enough.

 Parley looked at the others in the room. Colonel Ciotti. looking unhappier by the minute, like a man out on a limb with no way off it Major Bannister, staring at the map table with tears in his eyes, unable to look at his colonel. Sergeant Major Immanual Kramer, who didn't look much better. Lieutenant Beeson, who kept looking at the monitor screens as if he hoped they'd go away.

 We're on the wrong side, Farley thought. And I'm senior man except for the Colonel. I should do something. But- The cry came through the speaker system. "Spartans! They have lolled the King!"

 Qotti looked up from the map. "Sony to hear that."

 "Sorry to hear that," Lt. Colonel Farley said. Something burst inside his head. "Sony to hear that! Sorry to hear that!"

 "Control yourself, Scott," Ciotti said.

 Scott Farley stood stiffly for a moment. He looked to the others in the room. They didn't move. He put his hand to his pistol. Ciotti stared in disbelief, and still no one moved.

 "Colonel," Parley said. "We're on the wrong side here."

 "How dare you-"

 "I dare because I'm right," Faiiey said- "And you know it. Colonel. I don't know what was in those goddam coded messages, I don't know what Bronson promised you, but Colonel, it couldn't possibly be worth this!"

 "Spartans! They have killed the King! The Helots have killed the King!"

 Thank God!" Lieutenant Beeson said.

 "Beeson?" Ciotti said.

 "It wasn't us, it was the Helots," Beeson said. "Colonel Parleys right, sir, we're on the wrong side."

 "Parley, I will overlook-"

 "No, sir, no you won't, because I won't back off,"

Parley said. "Colonel. I can't take this. I'm relieving you of command. Bannister, general orders, all units.

 Cease operations against the Spartans, and assist the Spartans against those barbarians."

 Bannister stood frozen.

 "Do it and I'll have you in a cell with this mutineer,"

Ciotti said. "Sergeant Major."

 "Sir?"

 "Please conduct Colonel Parley to the Provost Marshal for confinement. Bannister, order the renewed assault on Fort Plataia."

 Bannister didn't moveNeither did Sergeant Major Kramer.

 "Spartans! They have lolled the King!"

 Ciotti looked around wildly. His pistol was hung neatly with his uniform tunic in the cloak room. "Sergeant Major -"

 Kramer shook himself, as if to wake up. "No, sir."

 "Sergeant, you've been with me twenty years!"

 "I'm with you now, Colonel. I'll always be with you.

But - we're on the wrong side, Colonel, it's the wrong fucking side, and you know it, sir, you have to know it."

 Parley nodded slowly. "Sergeant Major, I think Colonel Ciotti has had a mild stroke He needs rest.

Please take him to his quarters and look after him.

Major Bannister, please send that order."

 Bannister nodded slowly. He raised the microphone. "All units," he said. "Attention to orders."

 When Colonel Karantov and his Fleet Marine guards arrived ten minutes later, he found the th in full cooperation with the Spartan forces. The battle of Sparta City was over.

 <• CHAPTER EIGHTEEN >A well-hidden secret of the principate had been revealed; it was possible, it seemed, for an emperor to be chosen outside Rome.

 -Tacitus, HISTORIES, ,: -" •> -> Surveying this watershed year of , from which mankind has descended into its present predicament, the historian cannot but be astounded by the decisive role of individual will. Hitler and Stalin played chess with humanity. In all essentials, it was Stalin's personal insecurity, his obsessive fear of Germany, that led him to sign the fatal pact, and it was hs greed and illusion - no one else's - which kept it operative, a screen of false security behind which Hitler prepared his murderous spring. It was Hitler, no one else, who determined on a war of annihilation against Russia, canceled then postponed it, and reinstated it as the centerpiece of his strategy, as, how, and when he chose. Neither man represented irresistible or even potent historical forces. Neither at any stage conducted any process of consultation with their peoples, or even spoke for self-appointed collegiate bodies. Both were solitary and unadvised in the manner in which they took these fateful steps, being guided by personal prejudices of the crudest kind and by their own arbitrary visions. Their lieutenants obeyed blindly or in apathetic terror and the vast nations over which they ruled seem to have had no choice but to stumble in their wake toward mutual destruction. We have here the very opposite of historical determinism - the apotheosis of the single autocrat. Thus it is, when the moral restraints of religion and tradition, hierarchy and precedent, are removed, the power to suspend or unleash catastrophic events does not devolve on the impersonal benevolence of the masses but falls into the hands of men who are isolated by the very totality of their evil natures.

 - Paul Johnson, Modem Times: The World from the Twenties to the Nineties (rev. ed. ) <•<•<• There is danger that, if the Court does not temper its doctrinaire logic with a little practical wisdom, it will convert the Bill of Rights into a suicide pact.

 - Justice Robert Houghwout Jackson, Terminielh v. Chicago US , () <••"<• As with any complex event, many factors were important in the transformation of Sparta from a nation founded by university professors seeking to establish the good society to the nucleus of what is formally called the Spartan Hegemony and which in all but name is the first interstellar empire; but analysts are universally agreed that much of the change can be traced to the will and intent of one man, Lysander I, Collins King of Sparta. It remains for us to examine how Lysander, originally very much in agreement with the Spartan Founders that the best policy for Sparta would be an armed neutrality on the Swiss model, came to embrace the necessity ofempire We must also understand that although Lysander did accept the necessity of an empire uniting a number of planets, he did not come to it willingly. Indeed, it was thrust upon him in a surprising manner...

 -From the preface to From Utopia to Imperium: A History of Sparta from Alexander I to the Accession of Lysander, by CaldweU C. Whitfock, Ph.D. (University of Sparta Press, ) -- <> ^ The war room was nearly deserted. Harv sat motionless at one end, and Lysander was in the center, his head bowed over the displays, although it was doubtful that they gave him much information. Two orderlies and a communications technician were still on duty. The lights flickered off, then back on, as Peter entered "t~" "

 Sire.

 Lysander stared at him.

 "Victory, your Majesty. The CoDominium forces have changed sides, and the Helots are defeated.

More than defeated. Annihilated for the most part."

 "Thank you." Lysander tried to stand, but his legs •wouldn't hold him. He cursed. "Another hour- If the battle's over I should go to Mother."

 "She's under sedation at St. Thomas's, sire," Peter said. "And while the battle is over, there are a great many things to be done. Beginning with evacuation of the Palace. I've come to escort you."

 "You really believe in that atom bomb?" Lysander demanded.

 "I don't disbelieve in it," Peter said. "I'm also ordering Fort Plataia evacuated. Just in case."

 "Good idea. A bomb here would get Government Square. St. Thomas's -"

 "Yes, sire, I'm working on that. too. We don't have much transportation, though, and its not going to be easy.

The Queen Mother and Graffin Melissa will be out of there in five minutes. A couple of hours to get everyone."

 "I suppose its best. All right, General, where shall we go?"

 "With your permission, Sire, I won't tell you until we're on the way. We've checked this room many times, but still-"

 Lysander shuddered. "Won't we ever be free of those vermin? General, you have no idea how weary I am of living this way, scared of the very walls - anyway, let's go. I trust you'll have good communications and status displays where you're taking me."

 Owensford led him out through the Palace. The corridors were mostly deserted. Peter tried to steer Lysander toward the back gates, but that wasn't possible. Lysander broke free and went to the front gates.

"Where?" he demanded.

 Peter Owensford sighed and led him to the place where King Alexander had died. A blanket still lay on the marble steps. "It was there, sire. The Helots were going to raise their flag, but the King brought out his guards and prevented that."

 Lysander knelt and lifted the blanket to reveal the blood stained marble. He stared across the public square, to the flagstaff where the Crowned Mountain proudly flew. "Get lights on that flag," he said. "I want it to stay there until we can put up a statue. All right, General, let's go."

 The command caravan was parked ten kilometers from the Palace. Most of both the Legion and Spartan military staff officers were there- Admiral Forrest waited impatiently as Lysander limped in, leaning heavily on a cane, and was seated with the assistance oftwoorderlies.

 "Highness - uh, excuse me. Sire. General Owensford," he began eagerly.

 "I gather Ciotti is talking," Owensford said "Oh, yeah. It was this way. Ciotti got the order to arrest the Legion and pronounce an interdict on Sparta. It looked legitimate enough, even though it was signed by Nguyen in Townsend's name. What made it suspicious was the other messages he got.

 "First, there was a long report on the breakup of the CoDominum. The Grand Senate is dissolved, but there's not enough stability on Earth to have another election, and a lot of places aren't even stable enough to appoint new Senators."

 "Jesus," Owensford said.

 'There's more. The Senate dissolved, but apparently a small group of Senators got together again in the Senate Chamber, and declared the adjournment invalid on some technical grounds. That meant this Rump was in theory a legitimate Senate, or at least could call itself that. It proceeded to pass a number of resolutions, one of them the order to imprison all mercenaries on Sparta, another deposing Grand Admiral Lennontov and ordering his arrest.

 "Then there was another message, apparently from Bronson himself as the new Chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee. It promises Ciotti promotion to Lieutenant General in command of this system, provided that he gains control here."

 "So the swine wasn't just following orders," Lysander said.

 "Well, Sire, he can plead that he was," Forrest said.

"He did have orders. I'd have questioned them, myself, but he can plead that he considered them valid."

 "So what's his status?"

 "Karantov has sent him up to the space station under guard. Lieutenant Colonel Farley is confirmed as commander of the th. My guess is that Ciotti will be sent off on Patton."

 Lysander turned to Owensford. "General, I want you to request that Karantov turn him over to us for trial."

 Peter shook his head. "Sire. I don't think that would be a good idea. I don't think Karantov will do it. He's not going to put a CoDominium regimental commander up before a mercenary court martial, and if he turns Ciotti over to you, what's to prevent Sparta from demanding the heads of every CD officer who ever did you harm? As Admiral Forrest says, Ciotti can plead that he had valid orders. Sire, if you do make that request it'll come better through your government than through me. My advice is that you don't ask at all."

 "I'll consider that advice," Lysander said.

 "He's lost his regiment because of what he did,"

Peter Owensford said.

 "I suppose. He's getting off easy. General, what's the status of that atom bomb?"

 "We're searching," Owensford said- "Of course we don't know there is one."

  "But you think there is."

 "I think we can't take any chances, Majesty. Now we have another problem. Do you have the passwords to your late father's computer system? In particular, where he kept his codes?"

 "Possibly," Lysander said. "When the fighting started he gave me a disk."

 "We have a long message from Fleet Headquarters that no one seems able to decode," Owensford said.

"We suspect its from Grand Admiral Lermontov, in which case your father might be the only one in this system with a key."

 "You don't?"

 "No, sir, nor does Karantov. Whitiock may have one.

Or Slater. We're trying to find them now."

 "Are they missing?"

 "Unfortunately," Owensford said. "When last seen, General Slater and his cadets and instructors were driving a Minetown mob off their campus, and we think Whitiock was with him."

 "You think they're all right?"

 "Yes, Sire," Peter said. "Hal Slater has been through more battles than anyone on this planet, and they weren't facing what you call first class opposition."

 "And he'd have code keys you don't have?"

 "It's possible," Owensford said. "Lermontov has known Hal nearly as long as he's known Falkenberg.

But our best bet is to see if you can find your father's codes,"

 "All right. I suppose the simplest thing is to start with this disk. Where do you have your code equipment?"

Lysander got to his feet and leaned heavily on his cane.

"Harv, I can use some help. Let's go. General."

 "General, I have someone calling for you. It may be the rebel commander."

 jerry Poumelle if S M. Stirling Lysander looked up from the code machine. "Terhaps you should talk to her. On the speaker, please."

 "Yes, Sire. All right, put her on." He lifted the microphone. "Owensfordhere."

 "Hiyo, Petie. You be remembering Skilly, I think."

 "I remember you."

 "You sound cold, Petie. Like you don' like me."

 Owensford made frantic hand signals. The technicians nodded agreement. Keep her talking. "I presume you have a message for me."

 "Sure, I want to know if you wan' take up that job offer I make you. Or maybe you want to hire me?

That's what you done with Barton after you defeat him, no? So maybe you hire me."

 "Well, we could discuss it," Owensford said.

 There was a long hard laugh. "Why, Petie, you tryin' to stall me! Lyin* to me, too. But I don' be on here long enough for you to trace where I am, Petie, so maybe we ought to talk serious. I guess Jeffl told you about Murasaki's big surprise."

 "What would that be?"

 "Oh, come on, now," Skilly said. Her chuckle was loud in the handset. "I know you talk to him, because we see him go into that palace, him and that spy chick you send us. So he tol' you about Murasald's bomb, which is why you frantic to get everyone out of Government Square and your Fort. Ever stop to think I know you evacuate those people? Maybe I even know where you are. If I don' know now, I find out soon enough, and you can't keep running all the time. Can't govern no country when you can't stop long enough to go to the pot.

 "Now you think you goin' find that bomb, or find Skilly, and you maybe right. Maybe right. Skilly down to the triarii now, not many Skilly's people left, who knows, maybe one turn she in for all that money."

 "So what do you want?" Owensford asked.

 "Skilly want what Miles gets, a ticket off this planet,"

she said. "You give me that, I give you the bomb.

Murasaki too, if you fast enough to catch him, but I don' promise Murasaki. He clever and he fast. But you get his bomb."

 "You ask for too much," Owensford said. "You and Niles aren't the same case."

 "Yeah, he white ass gentleman," she said. "But I suppose what you mean is Stora Mine. Skilly sorry about that. Bad thing, but if it end the war, kindness after all.

Thought it work, thought North Valley would surrender, but your people tougher than we think. And Baby Prince up there to rally the troops, too. Anyway, that water over the spilled milk. Question now is, maybe you catch Skilly and maybe you don't, and meanwhile you going to lose a lot of Citizens and a lot of that city, cause Skilly got nothing left to bargain with."

 "We don't even have a way to get you off-planet,"

Owensford said, "Just at the moment, space is controlled by elements of the CD Navy and it's not certain just who they're loyal to. They like us some, but they hate you a lot. and I doubt we could talk them into letting you leave Sparta even if we wanted to."

 "Now, Petie, you wouldn't lie to Skilly, would you?

Damn I wish I have one of those gadgets you like so much, but I bet you got your phones jiggered same way I do, filter out all that overtone stuff before it goes out, 'no? Anyway, I make you one last offer. You take the price off Skilly's head, and you stop looking for Sidlly Outlaw Skilly, that all right. Sidlly take care of herself. Any cop on or off duty shoot Sidlly on sight, that all right, it happen anyway. But you don' send police tracking me. Or Legion either. Skilly sorry about that Stora Mine business, but nothing she can do."

 "We take the price off your head, and you're no longer officially wanted, but you remain an outlaw, to be dealt with as wolves are."

 "Right. Without that reward, people get tired of looking for Skilly after a while. They hate Skilly, but they get over it, get on with their lives, if they don' get rich chasing she. Skilly like a better deal, but time getting short. I take that one."

 "And in return?"

 "I give you that bomb and the last place I know Murasald at, and we quits."

 "I have to refer this to His Majesty."

 "Yo. And Petie, you tell His Majesty, Skilly not order anyone to kill his father. That fortunes of war. Dreadful Bride claim him, maybe, but it was nothing deliberate."

 "Bight. I'll be back in a few minutes."

 "Don" take too long," Skilly said. "And don' be delaying thinking you track this call. You track it, all right, but when you get there you find it first relay and you got more tracking to do. Skilly can talk until that bomb go off, you not find she that way, but you lose a lot of you city."

 "All right. Be right back." He turned to Lysander.

"Sire, you heard."

 "Yes. I presume she means it."

 "I certainly wouldn't bet most of the Capital on it being a bluff," Owensford said. "And that's exactly what you would be doing."

 "I hate letting her get away," Lysander said.

 "Maybe she won't."

 "Whatever. All right. I hate this, but I don't see what else we can do. Tell her I'll issue the proclamation rescinding the reward, and we'll both issue orders to our forces not to expend official effort in hunting for her. That's as soon as we find the bomb, of course."

 "Right." Owensford activated the communications set. "You got it," he said. "Reward called off, no official efforts to find you."

 "Legion too," Skilly said. "Your word on that."

 "Legion too. Our word, mine and His Majesty's.

That's as soon as we find die bomb."

 *Tah, I figure you do it that way. All right. At the southeast comer of Government Square, keep going southeast you come to the King Jason Hotel. It probably surprise you a lot. but I own that hotel. Well, someone else name on the papers, but I pay for it. The Royal Arms restaurant there, in the basement, there's a big meat locker. The far wall of that meat locker opens up, there's another room behind it. You'll find the bomb in there, and I think you better hurry. I don't think Murasald leave much time. That was last place I know him to be, too, but I don't think he there now."

 Owensford thumbed off the microphone.

"Deighton! Get bomb disposal and a tac unit moving to the King Jason Hotel, southeast comer of Government Square. There's a nuke there, details after they're on the way. Murasald was last seen there, but I don't expect you to catch him."

 "Nuke. King Jason Hotel. On the way, skipper."

 "Why won't we catch Murasald?" Lysander asked.

 "He'll have a way off planet. Bronson has agents here, they'll be on their way. The interesting part is they didn't take Skilly. I don't think they like her." He thumbed the microphone back on. "All right, bomb disposal is on the way."

 "Aww, Petie, I thought you go yourself. That way, if the city go up, I know you with it. Anyway, Petie, Skilly wish she never start this. Too bad I can't stay around and watch you hang Croser, but I probably see it on TV."

 "Miss Thibodeau."

 "Who's that? That you. King Lysander?"

 "Yes."

 , "Well, Majesty, excuse me, but I don' have long to talk You take that reward otfhke you promise, you hear?"

 "I will keep my promise," Lysander said.

 "An" you don' know why you want to talk with me. It okay. Majesty, it okay to be curious about such like me- You want to stare into that empty empty abyss, and you doin' it, and the abyss stares right back, your Majesty. I tell you this. Skilly means it when she say she sorry she start this, and sony she not listen to Jeffl about that business with the rocket. Now Skilly gone."

 "Signal lost," a technician said. "Carrier lost."

 "Affright, General," Lysander said. "I've stared into the abyss, and I'm not about to become like that. We gave her a promise. Presuming your people find and disarm that bomb, we'll keep our word."

 "Of course, sir. No reward, no official pursuit.' "So why are you looking so smug?" Lysander demanded.

 "Well, sir, you may remember Sergeant Taras Miscowsky from the incident at the Halleck ranch?"

 "Indeed. I remember more than him I'm reliably informed that you've been seeing quite a lot of the Senator's grand-daughter."

 "Yes, sire. But back to a less pleasant subject. Sergeant Miscowsky has been on campaign for a long time now. Accumulated considerable leave. He served with spooned coffee beans into the grinder. "No Sumatra Lintong. No Jamaica. Just local, I'm afraid."

 "Right now I'll be grateful for anything," Hal said.

"Peter, it's hard to know where to start."

 "Start at the-"

 "Beginning, go through to the end, and then stop.

Yeah," Whitlock said. "Beginning. Lermontov's truly deposed. In gaol if not dead, and my guess is dead.

This message was recorded and coded and set up to be sent in the event anything happened to him. It's updated with some other last minute stuff. Oh.

Falkenberg won, by the way. New Washington campaign is over, Franklin gave up, and whatever passes for a government on New Washington has proclaimed John Christian Falkenberg as Protector."

 Owensford whistled. "Won and won big, then. Wait a minute. Protector. Anything about that political girl, Clenda Ruth Horton, I guess her name was?"

 "Yeah, I think so, but we're still decoding the Falkenberg reports. They were included in this message from Lermontov, so they didn't break in clear."

 "You think the Colonel married her?" Hal Slater asked.

 "You know him better than I do."

 "Its certainly a possibility," Slater said. "Which makes things interesting, since we're all pretty well settled here. Kathryn isn't going to move again."

 "Miriam Ann likes it here," Whitlock said. 'Took her a while to get used to the gravity and the short day, but she likes the company. Take a powerful lot to move her now. Me too, of course."

 "I never did ask where you finally settled in,"

Owensford said. "Sony, been so busy."

 That's all right. I bought a spread near Hal's new place, off that park area the War College uses sometimes. Interesting neighbors. After we had that meetin' at Hal and Kathryn's, Captain Newell started looking around there. He hasn't bought in yet, but we've got, what, Hal? Maybe a dozen CoDominium navy families settled around the area. Makes for good company. I hear you're gettin" pretty serious, you staying on Sparta?"

 "Yes. Lydia likes the outback. So do I. We'll keep a ranch out in the Valley, but there's too much work here.

We've been looking for something near die Capital."

 "Bring her out to meet Miriam Ann," Whitlock said' expect Miriam Ann and Kathryn can help her find a place she'll like. Better do it quick, though, I hear there's more CD people looking at land around there, you'll want to get or acres before the prices get too high."

 "I'll do that. Thanks." Peter poured more coffee. "All right Back to work. So Lermontov is definitely out."

 "And these are his final orders," Hal Slater said.

 "Call it his will," Whitlock said. "Grand Admiral Sergei Mikaelovich Lermontov's legacy to the Fleet."

 "I hate to think that," Owensford said- "One damned good man. All right. What are the Grand Admiral's last orders?"

 "Lots of stuff addressed to the Fleet, about loyalty, and what the CoDominium Fleet was for," Whitlock said. "Pretty damn good, too. Political scientists will be mining that for a century. But it boils down to this.

The CoDominium existed to keep the peace. Now it's broken up, gone, and those who tore it up don't want peace. They're going to come around demanding loyalty from the Fleet, and they don't deserve it. Factions are going to try to use the Fleet, but it'll be to start wars for their own purposes."

 "Jesus, that's prophetic enough," Owensford said "Right. By the way, there's another message encoded inside this one, encoded in the authentication code Lermontov used to send messages to the Fleet, and of course it's addressed to the Fleet. I sent that up to Boris," Hal said.

 "Hunk his nose will be out of joint that you had the key and he didn't?" Owensford asked.

 "Don't know," Hal said.

 "I expect yes, but not too bad," Whitlock said. "We put a lot of stress on Hal being one of Lermontovs oldest friends -"

 "So was Boris," Hal said.

 "And one of Falkenberg's oldest friends, and that's going to be real relevant," Whitlock said. "You see, once he got through warning the Fleet what evil people would do to get control of them and their ships, he gave his last orders. He ordered them to obey his successor as they would him. But he didn't know who his successor would be. Let me read some of that.

 "Brothers and sisters in arms, we cannot name my true successor now. We can be certain that the Rump of the Grand Senate will attempt to name a successor. We can be certain that successors will name themselves.

How shall we choose among them? I do not believe that we can, yet we -you, for if you read this, I will not be with you - you m ust stay together. You m ust have unity. To that end, you can form a council of captains to advise your new commander, and I urge you to do that, but I do not believe that a council of captains can long govern, or even name a commander for you.

 "I cannot name a commander for you.

 "I will name a group that you can obey with honor.

It consists of people you know. Two are young, but you will understand why they are named. The third is older and you will understand that choice also. The fourth some of you will know and some will not. My brothers and sisters in arms, I command you: until they themselves shall name a successor to me, you will accept your orders from John Grant; Carleton Blaine; John Christian Falkenberg; and King Alexander of Sparta. They do not always agree, and that is well, for they can work together and they will, and when they are together they have/great wisdom. When they speak together you must obey them as you would me.

 "Farewell. We have done our best, for civilization, for the human race. We have not failed in our duties.

Those to whom we owed obedience failed us. We have not rebelled against legitimate authority. The authority vanished. Now there is no legitimate authority.

 "John Grant. Carleton Blaine. John Christian Falkenberg. Alexander of Sparta. They are my heirs, and they will find you an honorable path to follow.

Stay together. Act in honor.

"Good-bye, and Godspeed.

"Sergei Mikaelovich Lermontov, Grand Admiral."

"Holy Christ," Owensford said. That's Lermontov all right." He wiped at something in his eye. "I guess the Old Man's really gone. But Alexander is dead.

What do we do?"

 "Don't leave much room for maneuver," Whitlock said. "Four was an unwieldy number anyway. Now it's three. A Grant, a Blaine, and Christian Johnny I think the Fleet will like that."

 'Then you think the Fleet will obey that order?"

Hal Slater asked "Some will," Whitlock said. "Let's look here at this system. Karantov will. Newell will think about it for a while. He's got all that Navy power, and he can see the potential, but he's pretty smart. He understands you can bash a planet, but you can't take it over, not with any four ships. Ufe by blackmail isn't much of a life. Besides, down deep he's a good man. He'll come around, and he'll bring those others who stood with him.

 "Donovic, now, he's not going to accept this. He'll head off toward Earth. He's that land, he'll go to see if  ferry Poumelle is S M Stirimg there's anything worth picking left on the bones of his mother. So figure, that's one out of five here won't accept Lennontovs heirs. Say two out of five on average, but they won't all defect in the same direction. Some'U sell their services to the highest bidder. Hell, that's about what's happened here, it's just we got the bids in early."

 "Only now this comes," Hal Slater said thoughtfully.

 "So maybe one in five goes over to Bronson?"

Owensford asked.

 "Sounds as good a guess as any," Whitlock said.

"And two in five stick with us. I presume it's us? We all together in this?"

 "One for all," Hal Slater said.

 "And all for one," Owensford added. "Except where does he come in?" He jerked his thumb toward the door.

 Whitlock looked at each of his companions.

 •> -- ^ The flags of Sparta stood at half mast. All but one.

Outside the steps of me Palace the Crowned Mountain stood out proudly at the peak of the flagstaff. At night a dozen spotlights illuminated it.

 Most of the wreckage had been cleaned up in Government Square. Many walls would be pockmarked for decades, but the debris was gone.

Traffic was thin, but commerce had begun again in the two weeks since the battle ended. Sparta had buried a king, and had yet to crown his son, but Lysander was still Master of the Forces, and had more work to do than ever.

 "Prince."

 Lysander looked up from his desk. There were a million details to attend to. During the battles he had given orders to the soldiers, and things happened. Now he hardly saw the soldiers. He gave orders to civilians, and something might happen or might not.

 "Aw hell, excuse me. King," Harv said. "You'd think I'd get used to it."

 "Maybe I should issue a special edict," Lysander said, smiling. Termitting you to use any title you feel like. You've earned it."

 "Don't know about that. Sony to disturb you, but mere's a bunch of military people to see you. Officers, and they brought some enlisted people too, sergeants and like that About fifty. Say they'd like to see you in the audience chamber whenever it's convenient, and they'll wait."

 Lysander frowned- "Well, all right -"

 "I think maybe I want some of the Life Guards with us when we meet that crew," Harv said.

 "Whatever for?"

 "Prince - Majesty, I plain don't like it. All these military and navy people, most of 'em in CoDommium uniforms. General Owensford dressed down as a light colonel of the Legion, General Slater in Royal Sparta uniform like Admiral Forrest. and they come with petty officers and sergeants and every one of them wearing sidearms. I been watching them, the last week they been thick as thieves. Majesty. Talking to each other, but not to you."

 "Well, Harv, if that group has come to demand my resignation, a dozen Life Guards won't change anything. Among them they've got enough power to slag this planet. Tell them I'll be pleased to receive them in the audience chamber in ten minutes, and don't bother with the Life Guards."

 "Well, if you say so. Prince -"

 "I just did, Harv."

 "Yes, sir."

 Lysander found Melissa and Queen Adriana in the family quarters. "I seem to be scheduled to hold an audience," he said. "Actually it's not scheduled, its more that it's demanded. Right now. By ail the militaiy officers in the system. Mine, the old CoDominium, the Legion-' "Surely the Legion is ours," Melissa said.

 "I thought so," Lysander said.

 "You look worried," Queen Adriana said.

 "Mother, I don't know. Harv's worried, and I guess that's got me thinking."

 "That they're here to depose you?"

 "Mother, I don't know. I have no reason to believe that, but I never had the military demand to see me in a body before, either. Anyway, I don't think I ought to keep them waiting. Melissa, take Mother to the country lodge. Harv has a driver waiting-"

 "I'll do no such thing," Melissa said. "I'm coming with you."

 Queen Adriana laughed- "I think you've got the wind up for nothing, boy. They probably want something, tides and honors and promotions. Soldiers like that sort of thing. But I'll tell you this, whatever they want, those Helots couldn't chase me, out of this palace, and I'm certainly not going to run from our own soldiers. Now lets go see what they want. But first, you change to your best tunic, and put your orders on. If we're going to be deposed, we may as well be dressed for it!"

 The delegation filed in. There were nearly fifty of them, and as Harv had said, they wore many different uniforms. Hal Slater in Legion dress, but still wearing a Royalist shoulder badge, seemed to be their leader, followed closely by Fleet Captain Newell and Colonel Karantov in CoDominium. Just behind them was his own Rear Admiral Forrest. Then Colonel Parley of the th. The Captains Alana. Legion Senior Sergeant Guiterrez, and other Legion Officers. And last of all, behind the enlisted men, in clothing more colorful than the military uniforms. Dr. Whidock came in carrying a briefcase.

 Lysander received diem sitting, with the Dowager Queen and Melissa seated next to him. When they had all filed in, Lysander stood and acknowledged their bows. "I regret diat King David is not in die city,"

Lysander said.

 "Sire, it was you we came to see," Hal Slater said.

He bowed, then bowed again to Queen Adriana.

"Madam. Graffina Melissa."

 "General, we are pleased to see you, but this is unexpected."

 "Yes, sire. we know it is," Slater said. "We'll be as brief as possible, but die matter is a bit complex.

 "Sire, everyone here is familiar with the long messages diat constitute Admiral Lennontov's last will, and of course you have read die copy addressed to your late fadier."

 "Yes, General."

 That document named a council of four to succeed Grand Admiral Lermontov. Widi King Alexander deceased diat left diree. The purpose of die council is to hold the Fleet togedier until some new governing structure can be formed to keep the peace." Hal Slater spoke carefully, as if lecturing at the War College radier than speaking to his sovereign.

 "That left us all with a problem," Slater said. Two problems, actually- The first is that a council that's physically dispersed across lightyears of space can't command. Decisions are going to be needed. Right here in this system we have a divided command. I hold a commission as an officer of die Royal Army and as such I am responsible to die Dual Monarchy; under the Ultimate Decree, to your majesty personally.

 However, I also have another office. With General Owensford and Dr. Whidock I am a spokesman for Colonel Falkenberg, and meanwhile he has become Protector of New Washington, as well as a member of the Grand Admiral's succession council.

 "Fleet Captain Newell finds himself under orders to obey a council that has never met. One of its members is dead, and no other member of that council is present in this system, yet it is in this system that his interests lie. Owensford, Whitlock, and I know that this system was important to Lermontov, and to Falkenberg. We know that Carleton Blaine as governor of Tanith offered alliance to Sparta. We're certain that'Captain Newell and his squadron should stay here and protect Sparta. But whose orders do they follow?"

 Lysander shook his head in wonder. "Are you asking me. General Owensford?"

 "Permit me, sire," Dr. Whitlock said. He came forward- "There's a sense in which I don't belong in here, but maybe I better explain something. King Lysander, if there's one thing history shows us, the worst kind of government anyone ever had was a council of soldiers. Maybe one soldier can govern and maybe not, but investing supreme power in a council of military officers is about the worst thing that can happen. Lermontov knew that. He made up a council of two officers and two politicians in the hopes they'd balance off, but you'll note he cautioned them to name someone as commander as soon as they could. What he didn't put in that public last will he put in private messages to me and Hal Slater. I've shown those to the other Fleet people here. What he told us to do was use our judgment on whether to offer command to King Alexander. We also know Colonel Falkenberg approved hailing King Alexander as commander if the necessity came up."

  Before Lysander could react to that, Hal Slater began to speak. 'The CoDominium is gone.

Something has to take its place, and we have no time to build anything," Hal said. 'There aren't many people we can follow. Falkenberg has always made it dear that he won't accept supreme command. So we've been discussing this, and we've all agreed, and we've come to tell you that agreement."

 Hal Slater limped forward. He was joined by Peter Owensford, then Fleet Captain Newell. Boris Karantov and Colonel Farley. Admiral Forrest They stood in a row.

 "This is just a little awkward," Hal said. "We've lost the ceremony for this over the past thousand years.

But we mean every word of it." He raised his arm, not outstretched as Germans once did, but high, palm forward- "Hail. Ave. Ave, Lysander, Imperator."

 The greeting was said carefully, self consciously at first, then repeated, this time with more enthusiasm.

"Ave Lysander, Imperator."

 It was echoed by the others in the room. officers and petty officers, representatives of the Fleet, voices blending together into a mighty shout that rang through the palace, and was echoed back to the audience chamber. The words washed over him, and Lysander stood, his expression unreadable.

 "AVE. LYSANDER. AVE, LYSANDER. IMPERATOR."

 "Bring us together." Caldwell Whitlock said, his voice low and almost unheard, and then die cry rang through the palace again.

 "AV£. AVE LYSANDER, IMPERATOR!"

 The End